by Nichelle Rae
I swallowed heavily, pretending that Ortheldo’s gaze, from those strange eyes, weren’t making me lose my breath all the sudden.
“That’s when I met your father,” Ortheldo concluded, looking across the way at him.
I cleared my throat because I thought my voice would squeak if I tried to speak. “Why would you leave though?” I asked. “If the king was dead, wouldn’t that make you king?”
“But I’m the one that killed him,” Ortheldo said.
“But maybe the kingdom would have been glad to have Socrat dead, too,” I said.
“I wasn’t about to stick around and find out if they’d hang me, or torture me, or welcome me with open arms!” he cried defensively, a small tremble in his voice.
I just nodded and decided not to press the issue. Listening to Ortheldo, I realized that we were quite alike. We’d both grown up at a young age. Both of us were forced into the wild, but for different reasons. Also, though I’d be the last one to admit it, we both needed a friend.
“Azrel,” my father said, “Ortheldo will be staying with us for quite some time. He wishes to be trained with a sword as well as you have been trained. Obviously, he will not be returning to Dwellingpath.” He paused and nodded at Ortheldo. “He will be your dueling partner from now on. I will train you both to be great warriors,” he sighed and added, “As I once was.”
My eyes went wide. Why did he say that?
Ortheldo smiled mirthlessly at me. “Yes, I know who your father was,” he said. “He told me when I revealed my own history to him, when we first met.”
I scowled. How annoying. Why did my father reveal such a personal and private thing to this strange boy? Though the question burned on my tongue, I wanted to go to sleep sometime today, so I let it go. I respected my father for taking in a child with a history such as Ortheldo’s. Maybe he did it because he knew how it felt to live in fear, exiled and shamed by his peers, regardless of his side of the story. He knew what it was like to have to run and hide because others didn’t understand his motives. I suppose my father’s heart reached out to Ortheldo, and in a strange way, mine did as well. Soft emotions weren’t things I often felt, so I didn’t know how to define what I was feeling. Nor did I try, or care.
Seven years passed as Ortheldo lived with my father and me. Both of us trained harder every day, and every day we became more skilled. We were both determined to become masters of the sword, and my father was just as determined to make us masters of the sword. I was glad he didn’t teach Ortheldo our special empty-handed fighting style. My father and I would still have something special, just between us.
One day, when I was twenty and Ortheldo was eighteen, my father called to us. As we walked inside from our swordplay I could see in Ortheldo’s eyes he knew something that I didn’t—something grave. I took his sleeve and stopped him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Ortheldo looked at me with a sad smile. “Curse you and your ability to read eyes so well,” he said. I studied his eyes looking for an answer, but he took my shoulders and guided me firmly to walk in front of him so I couldn’t see his face. “You’ll find out,” he said in a deeply sad tone.
We walked into our cave. My father was sitting on his bed with a miserable expression on his face. Something lay across his lap wrapped in white material. He looked up at us weakly as we entered, as if he didn’t have the strength to raise his head. “Sit in front of me, Azrel,” he said. It was the softest voice I’d ever heard him use. Confused, I took a seat on the cave floor. He sighed heavily. “This is the moment I’ve dreaded your entire life,” he said. “It’s my fault that you must bare this burden now, and I’m so very sorry.” He unwrapped the white material and revealed a mighty double-edged sword.
My eyes went big.
The fine silver blade bore engravings of a flame traveling up the sword with an eye on each side. The hilt was something I never could have imagined—a solid diamond. It wasn’t simply a hilt with diamonds in it, it was a diamond hilt. It sparkled magnificently in the sunlight seeping through the opening of the cave. Because diamonds were smooth, the hilt looked like it would be hard to hold for long in battle, once your palms got sweaty. But I could tell there was something very special about this sword.
I reached for it in awe, but my father quickly pulled it away from my hovering hand. I looked at his face only to see two small tears fall from each eye. My eyes bulged even more; never in my life had I seen my father cry! The sight of it made my heart clench in a new emotion I could only identify as fear, because it was something I’d never felt until now. Though I feared more for him then myself, there was no mistake about what emotion it was.
He looked passed me at Ortheldo. “Ortheldo, please sit next to Azrel,” he said. The young man obeyed. “Azrel. Ortheldo. I have taught you both much over the years, and all I ask is that you remember my teachings and use them wisely. Can you do that?” my father asked.
“Yes,” Ortheldo and I both answered softly.
My father nodded. “Azrel, after I hand you this sword, you will gain what you need,” he said. I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant, but he held up his hand and said, “You will find out when I hand it to you.” I closed my mouth slowly and nodded. “After I hand it to you,” he said, “you must leave this place immediately and never return.”
I started to shake. “What?” I asked in horror as I felt an unfamiliar burning behind my eyelids. “Why do I have to leave?”
“You must travel to The Pitt and seek out your mother, Priweth.” His lips quivered at the mention of her name.
My mother? What did she have to do with anything?
So many strange emotions ran through me. My world had turned upside down in a matter of minutes. I didn’t even want to touch that sword if it meant having to leave everything I’d ever known! I didn’t want to live among strangers in an unfamiliar land. I hated that sword and all its beauty! I wanted nothing to do with it. But I wasn’t about to voice that to my father; I didn’t dare. I swallow back the words I wanted to scream.
“Ortheldo,” my father continued, “will you travel with Azrel to The Pitt?”
“Of course. I’ll see to it that she arrives safely and finds her mother,” he said.
“Thank you.” His eyes turned to me once again. “Azrel, you still have much to learn, but you will not learn all of it alone. You will be guided along your path until you know your place. You will find out more of this when you leave here.” He paused and stared at me intently. “Azrel, I need you to make me a promise before you take this sword.”
I nodded reluctantly.
“Promise me that you won’t ever, ever let anyone call you a coward. Don’t ever let yourself make the mistake I made by allowing myself to be labeled one. Be brave. Please, promise me this before I hand you this weapon,” he said.
I nodded and swallowed again, trying to force a burning lump down my throat. “I promise, Father.” I whispered. What was about to happen to our lives?
My father nodded and finally offered the weapon to me. His hands and lips quivered when I hesitated to take it. I studied his face, and in his eyes, I saw he was reluctantly handing this sword to me; he didn’t want me to take it. Before I could read his eyes well enough to find out why, he closed them tightly and tightened his jaw as if bracing for a hard hit.
I swallowed again and then slowly stood up, wondering what awaited me. I tentatively reached my hand out and rested it on the sword’s hilt for a moment. The diamonds were smooth and cool. I wrapped my fingers around it and picked it up. It was lighter then I would have guessed, and it balanced beautifully in my grasp. I held up the sword and stared at it in wonder.
Suddenly the metal exploded into a white flame! Though my first intention was to drop it, my fingers held fast. I couldn’t let go! Something was stopping me.
Immense fear gripped me unlike anything I’d ever felt. I was going to get burned up! The white fire grew and grew until it seemed to fill the entire cave. I tried to back
away, but I backed right into a wall! I was surrounded by white fire! But before I could scream, I suddenly realized that it didn’t burn me. It didn’t do anything but surround me until all I could see was white light in every direction.
Two separate streams of white fire came from the sword, like two hands reaching to touch my face, and suddenly I felt a strange rush of power course through my veins. I gasped from the intense feeling. My head rolled back and my eyes closed as I absorbed it. It spread from the heels of my feet to the very tips of my hair. I felt an amazing rush of knowledge surged through me, and suddenly I knew what this sword was. Instantly I knew how to use it, as if I’d known my whole life. I knew what I was becoming! I couldn’t believe it! It was the Sword my father had mentioned; the Sword that he himself wielded 3,000 years ago. The power now inside of me was the same magic that had been sucked away from him.
I was becoming the W White Warrior!
I knew that my father had taken me away into seclusion to keep my existence a secret from a greater evil than he had ever had to face. I knew that he trained me so hard because of my calling to destroy this evil. But I didn’t know I would have the help of magic when that day came! I had the gift of the White Fire passed to me, the earthly incarnation of the Light Gods.
Wait, gift? Often my father referred to it as a burden, a curse from which he had no escape…and now it was mine.
As I felt myself absorbing the power, feeling it ooze into my skin and penetrate my soul, a voice spoke to me from inside the light that still surrounded me. “Azrel, you have been given the gift of the White Warrior. All Goodness shall be bound to your soul from this day forth. Use this gift wisely, for your father foolishly dishonored his crown—the crown that you must earn back. You have great powers bestowed in you now, yet it is not the full source.
“Because of your father’s cowardice, your magic has been limited. Until you have proven yourself worthy, you shall not receive your crown, nor have the privilege of all your magic. You are powerful, but not yet invincible. Death can still come to you through fatal infliction and injury until you have earned your crown. Only then you will become fully immortal.
“Let no evil corrupt your soul or touch this Sword, for doom will befall all should you weaken. Fair well with this gift, Azrel, for it is unique, and only you have it.”
I heard all the words that were spoken, but the only ones that mattered were the words used to describe my father: “foolishly,” “cowardice,” “dishonored.” I didn’t like those words, and it burned my blood to hear them aimed at my father. My father was a great man and didn’t deserve to be associated with such words.
I glared into the light, not seeing anything but making sure my defiance was known. “Don’t ever let me hear you speak of my father in that way again,” I said.
The light disappeared slowly, and my cave came back into focus. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a strange white figure standing beside me. Reflexively, I spun around and thrashed my sword at it, only to have the white figure shatter at my feet.
It was the looking glass! With wide eyes, I stared into what was left of it on the wall; the white figure was me!
My heart raced as I gazed at what I’d become. It looked like my reflection, but at the same time, it wasn’t my reflection. My hair was pure, shiny white and softly glowed. A delicate white halo of light shone around my entire being. My skin even looked whiter, paler then what it used to be. My eyes weren’t blue anymore. They didn’t have any color, not even a small black pupil. They were just two pure white lights that glowed brighter than my skin. I brought my hand up to tenderly touch my face just to be sure that what I was seeing was really me. I felt my hand on my cheek, but I still could not connect my own touch to what I was seeing in the glass.
I looked down to inspect my new clothes. It looked ridiculously tight and one would think it hard to move in, but as I wiggled around and stretched, I found moving incredibly easy. The material was as flexible as I was. I felt straight and aligned with nothing obstructing my movements. I was very in control of what my body was doing, almost as if I was wearing no clothes at all. The top was beautifully decorated with white intricate designs of a fabric that glittered across my chest when I moved. A thick, white cloak rested on my shoulders, falling gracefully behind me, almost completely down to floor. On my feet were the most dazzling white boots. A master leather worker could not have constructed them, even with the help of magic. They were white leather with a layer of white sparkles glittering just beneath the surface.
On my hands were the most intriguing devices I’d ever seen: fingerless white gloves made of thick woolen cloth. They extended a little more than half way up my forearms, and three white metal pieces jutted out from my knuckles into claw-like knives about six inches long. I ran my fingers over the palm of one glove and found a strange, bumpy substance covering the inside of it. It was solid substance, yet…flexible—however that was possible. I realized, though, that this substance on my gloves made it very hard to drop the Sword, despite the smooth diamond surface. I affectionately labeled the bumps on my gloves “grippers.”
I looked in the mirror again and saw a small diamond brooch in the shape of fire fastened to my top. I touched it lightly with my fingertip and wondered why it was there. Maybe a mark of distinction, though it would be hard to mistake The White Warrior for someone else.
When I finished my examination, I thrust the sword into the white, diamond-studded scabbard attached to my white leather belt and turned to my father—and the sight before me nearly sent me hard to the floor. My heart stopped and I nearly felt my legs give way. He lay on his bed, and Ortheldo leaned over him, grasping his shoulders in emotional agony.
I could barely think. What was wrong? I rushed to Ortheldo’s side and gazed down at my father. He was whiter than the white of my garments, and his breathing was labored.
He painfully turned his eyes to me. “Please forgive me, Azrel,” he said in a choking whisper, “for dooming you with this curse.” I wanted to silence him, but didn’t dare. “Keep this shameful secret. Tell no one about it until you know more of it. You will know when to use it. Be brave, and know this if you know nothing else: you have allowed me to be alive with your presence. Since you were born, I’ve felt that life could not have been more fulfilling, nor more glorious, nor more worthwhile, nor more generous. I could not have been more blessed than to have met your mother and spent these last years with you. I love you very much, my beautiful daughter. My warrior.”
An invisible fist was closing around my throat. I couldn’t even let out the burning sob that wanted to explode out of me. Before I could say a word, his eyes closed…and his breathing stopped.
My eyes widened and my breath came in rigid pants. I cupped his cold face in my hands, staring in disbelief and horror. This…this wasn’t happening! It wasn’t! How could this be? How could he be dead? He couldn’t be! The man had lived thousands of years! He couldn’t be gone. Not so suddenly! I needed him! I needed him now more than ever! I’d only had twenty years with him. I wanted more! I wanted my father!
I trembled. My mind raced.
This wasn’t real!
But he was so cold.
My father…my daddy…was…
My jaw locked, and my face trembled when a thought suddenly came to me; the sword had taken him from me! He passed me the White Fire magic and then he died. My father, my guardian, my teacher, my best friend was gone. Gone forever! I’d never hear his voice again, never see his handsome smile, never feel his strong hand pat my shoulder when I’d done something well.
Shaking with grief, I clutched my father’s shirt in my trembling fists. Then I threw my head back and screamed. I screamed at the top of my lungs. There was nothing else I could do. My father was gone. One of the two people I’d ever known in my life was gone!
I cursed that sword! I cursed this power! It had taken everything from my father at one time, and now it had just taken everything from me! My father was dead! Dead!
I would have gone mad and destroyed the entire cave and probably myself had Ortheldo not yanked me into his arms and held me tight against him. I started to cry for the first time in my life. Both of us knelt on the floor, shaking in each other’s arms. But Ortheldo wasn’t crying. Perhaps he was too numb, or maybe he felt he needed to be strong for me.
I sobbed uncontrollably for a long while. We offered what comfort we could to each other, but it wasn’t much. After all, Ortheldo had lost a father, too. I squeezed him tighter, a gesture that he returned. All I could do was cry and think about my father and why this had to happen. My father, my daddy…he would never be coming back to us.
We buried him that morning at the entrance of the cave so that his spirit might ward off any intruders. The deed would have been simple had I used the new power I had, but Ortheldo and I decided against it. My father hated the White Power, and to use it to bury him seemed disrespectful. I transformed back into the brown haired, regular old Azrel I had been before that sword was handed to me, and we buried him with our bare hands. Most of the time, all day actually, we dedicated to carving my father a proper headstone. Then, remembering his words about leaving right away, Ortheldo and I gathered all our weapons and whatever else we might need for a long journey and left the cave as the sun was setting.
As Ortheldo and I left our home, our safety, we both took a last look at it over our shoulders. I recalled the memories, the lessons, and the twenty years I’d spent growing up here. The realization started to sink in that my world was coming to an end, and once again I cursed that sword and my magic! I decided right then and there that I would never use them. They needed to be kept secret, and by the Light and the Shadow Gods, I would keep it as close as I could. I didn’t want to use them any more than my father had wanted to give them to me. I was just going to stay the same Azrel I’d always been—only fatherless.
