THE BOY STOOD STIFFLY LIKE A LIFELESS TOY SOLDIER, ready to test, eager to take the path that would lead him towards his final blade. Luca would finally become a man—no longer a jubahn, but a servantu, a true Davinian, a servant of order, of charity, and of peace in arms. It would be a baptism of the sword, a rebirth for the boy with the wooden leg, and Luca stood standing, patiently waiting for his transformation.
His friends had already tested and passed, the last one being Luleh of Heatheranla, who had just finished with her forms. Luca watched as Siel awarded Luleh her Rasplendur, or seventh blade, that which makes one a Davinian Blademaster. Her new glorious blade gleamed against the rays of the sun peeking in from the never-ending windows adorning the glamorous hall. Luca looked on with admiration.
All of the sixth blades had been called. Luca was the last one to test, and it was to be his turn next. He glanced towards his friends, who stared back at him with smiles matching the excitement in the room, and everyone else in the crowd had their eyes on Luca as well, for they knew that the boy with the wooden leg was about to become a Servantu, something that was truly a remarkable accomplishment. All were excited...all except one.
Luca turned to the black bird on its massive perch and saw it cutting him down with its stare. There was uncertainty in the Mor’s eyes, and Prebansa stared at the boy for the longest time, as if it pondered whether it should call Luca’s name or not. Young Luca’s disposition began to turn, and like a runaway train, thoughts invaded his mind—of his mother, of his wooden leg, and of the beast of a lady that had come to claim him as her own. A cloud of unknown fogged his focus, and he was unsure of what the future would bring.
And right when he felt most vulnerable, it came: a voice lingering in and out of the invisible.
Luca, sweet boy. Yes, Luca the cripple, listen to us! You can be a sovereign, a king! Come with us to the sunless land!
But then the voice left as quickly as it came. Luca snapped out of his trance and thought nothing of the voice except for something bordering on the imaginary.
At last, the bird let out a scream, and Siel, being the only one to understand the bird’s noise, stood up and spoke, “Prince Lucanah bal Bune, you are called to test.” Smiles reigned throughout the hall.
Everyone watched as Luca made his way to the ceremonial ring in the middle of the hall. Reaching the center, he stopped and took his stance.
“Begin with your forms,” Siel said.
Outside, unexpectedly, thunder crashed against the distant clouds, and everyone in the hall was taken aback by its ferocious timing. Luca found it fitting to begin his first movement on the heels of that bursting sound. His first movement could not have been executed more precisely, and when he turned to complete his second movement, only his focus could have been superior to his skills. And on to the third and to the fourth and the fifth—perfect, perfect, perfect! Luca felt something inside him that he had never felt before, something unseen, something powerful and inhuman, like a brilliant warm light swimming inside his veins.
All of his forms were coming together, and wide grins bloomed across the faces of the souls surrounding him, most especially, his father. As he neared his final movements, it was becoming evident that Luca possessed skills above the average Davinian. He looked to the crowd and saw only their elated stares matching his gaze. He was proud of his achievements and felt happy to finally be rewarded for them.
But then he turned to Prebansa and saw something different. The Mor’s eyes were callous, and in them he saw pity. But why? Why did the Mor pity him when everything seemed so right? The Mor turned his eyes away from Luca and set them on the rays of the sun peeking in through one of the corner windows in the hall, but this did not trouble Luca. Only one more form to go.
He took one last breath and executed his final form, and when he started his movement, Luca noticed a difference between his present movement and those that preceded it, for as he was turning his waist and shifting his legs to end up at his last form, something happened, something incalculable.
Before he heard the SNAP of his wooden leg, Luca was well aware he had gone down, for he felt out of balance. And as he fell, to him it was like time had suddenly stopped, and memories of the seven years he had trained day and night passed before his eyes.
As he hit the wooden floor, he was reminded of the Mor’s saddened face, and he realized before the crowd could even register what had just happened, that his troubles were far from over and that his journey of sorrow was about to begin. Luca remained lifeless. He had hit the floor hard, and the pains of the impact had begun to set in.
And in those seconds, when Luca was most vulnerable, terror struck with the sound of a familiar voice.
Yes, Luca the cripple, the failure—the fallen Jubahn. You are a beast, a cripple without a leg—a boy without a sword!
Druuk catapulted from his seat, launching towards his only son, but was held back by the king.
“Please, no one tend to him!” Siel said. “We must let him be. He is Davinian, and it is his load to bear. Come to me, Jubahn.”
Druuk contained his emotions as he watched Luca struggle to get up, and after a number of arduous seconds, he witnessed his son finally raise himself to his feet. When Luca felt that he commanded enough balance, he grabbed his broken wooden leg and started on his march towards his headmaster.
Luca did his best to hop along to Siel, but his wounds around his leg and body were making his attempt difficult. Yet, in the midst of all the pain, he managed to keep himself up and walking, at least for a couple of steps. Realizing that the pain was too much to bear, Luca fell for a second time that day.
He lay on the floor, breathing and rubbing his hurt leg. He moaned in pain as he turned over in order to raise himself up on his feet. The hall fell completely silent, and all that was heard was the heavy tapping of that one foot attached to that one strong leg. Luca had never had a problem hopping from place to place with his good leg, but that day, it seemed as if he had never learned to do so.
Only a few feet remained when the boy, who had already fallen twice that day, fell for a third time. A loud slam amplified his humiliation, reverberating above the heads of the students who stood watching with their mouths closed and eyes wide as the sun. It was an uncomfortable moment for all, especially for Druuk, who seemed as if he could bear no more of his son’s pain.
“Rise,” Siel said. “Rise now, Jubahn! You still have a few steps until you reach me.”
Luca tried his best to bring himself up on his one leg, but this time, the pain of his bruises and of his failures were too taxing for him to succeed. He could not accomplish what his master asked of him.
“Raise yourself up, Luca,” Siel kept on. “What is the matter, Davinian? Can you not rise to meet your lord and master? You are only a few steps away. Rise! If you do not rise, you cannot come to me. Rise! Use all your strength!”
Luca, desperate to find enough energy to haul himself upright, could not bear to look upon Siel’s face.
“Can you not stand up, Luca of the Moon Ire?”
But Luca, after a moment of wisdom, surprised everyone in the hall when he spoke the words, “Not without your help, master.” And he reached out his hand to Siel, and everyone breathed in with silent gasps. There was a pause of anticipation.
“Whatsoever you ask of me I shall do,” Siel said, extending his benevolent hand to him. “Take my hand, Luca, and let me bring you up to stand with me. Now rise, fallen jubahn.”
After raising Luca to his feet, Siel took a step closer to Luca. “Prince Lucanah of Hads, under the rules and regulations set forth by the Order regarding the Ceremony of Testing, I proclaim you a Fallen Jubahn, and you’ll be subjected to the punishment so prescribed at a later time. Because you broke form, young Luca, regardless of reason, you weren’t able to complete the test, thus the proclamation of failure. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Please, Luca of the Moon Ire,” Siel said with a heav
y heart. “Leave us, and retreat to your home. You won’t be awarded your Rasplendur today.”
Those words sank deep within Luca’s soul, and pain shot from his head down to his toes. He looked to his father, who stood with his head down, leaning against one of the many stone columns, saddened and weak. Then the boy turned to his friends Vehru and Pabru and saw their eyes turn away. The crowd in front of him split in two and opened up a path for him to follow.
Immediately, Luca began his march down the path with that one, desperate foot holding all of his weight, until finally reaching the doors to the hall. But before he opened them, he turned to his right and saw Lereh meeting his eyes with hers, and suddenly Luca felt worthless, thinking of the words the red-haired beauty had spoken earlier about obtaining his seventh blade to earn her respect. Lereh turned her eyes away from him. What did I win today except shame and pity? Defeated, he opened the door and left the room.
When the doors closed, his father, who now had become weak and disoriented, cried out to him, “Son!” But Luca had already gone, failing to hear his father’s words. What would happen next would be a surprise to most, for when Druuk let out his moan, blood seemed to spew out of his mouth. He clutched this syrupy liquid with his hands shaking, and a moment passed before his eyes closed and his body dropped to the floor.
Unaware of what had happened to his father, Luca kept on with his lonely march. Ahead of him, he spotted Mastro Vohro standing near a window; he had exited the ceremony hall the minute Luca failed his test. Holding his broken leg in his arms, Luca made the decision to approach his teacher.
Seeing Luca come upon him ignited something inside Vohro that he had not felt in years: nervousness. Reaching his teacher, Luca stopped and paused without saying a word. Vohro noticed that in his left hand Luca carried his broken wooden leg. The shock of seeing Luca holding the leg up forced Vohro’s mouth to relax and open, and he exhaled, as if being sucker-punched in the gut. Truly, Luca was there to ask his teacher why the leg had broken if it had been crafted by the great Davinian Mastro. Why did it break at the time when he relied on its strength the most? Was Luca there to forsake, once and for all, the master he had always looked up to?
“Mastro?” Luca said, holding up the leg to him.
“What is it?” Vohro said, his hands softly trembling.
“Thank you,” Luca said. “It held up longer than I thought it would. This leg got me through a number of tough times. It was unfortunate that it snapped when it did, but I was expecting it to snap much sooner. This leg was truly crafted by a great master. Take it. I shall return it to you now.” Luca raised the leg higher as he urged Vohro to take it from him. Vohro took the leg from the fallen Jubahn, and with nothing more to say, Luca turned around and retreated from him.
Reaching the front of the building, Luca stepped out of the school and into the courtyard. The last thing he expected to greet him was the coldness of the dusk. All day long he had been a friend to the warm sun, but now he was thrust out into the open grayness of the infant night. He felt as if he had been abandoned by the great fireball in the sky, and he could not help but blame his failure on the matter.
The fallen jubahn stood with his one leg and did his best to keep balance. His eyes were on the gawking crowd who stared back at him as if he demanded their attention. Whispers and gossip played amongst the crowd’s lips, and Luca realized it was no mystery that they knew he had just failed; he was now their main attraction. On some other occasion, to be the center of attention would have please Luca, but today, it made him feel more like an unnatural miscreation who was set out on display for all to look upon and covertly pity. So with a despondent heart, Luca welcomed the fact that he would not be able to abrogate the stares directed towards him.
He did not blame them; he did not hold anything against the crowd. He had failed, and thought it fair to be gawked at if it was the will of the people of the land. He turned to his far right and saw Sertu waiting by his carriage. Just by her expression, it was obvious she felt Luca’s pain. Gertred sat atop on the driver’s seat; his stare was up and away, for he could not bear to look into the eyes of his beloved master, for he would surely lose himself in sorrow.
Sertu motioned for Luca to make his way to the carriage so they could get him home with great speed. There was nothing more Sertu wanted to do but to comfort him, feed him, and nurture him.
Luca hopped towards the carriage, and every pounce of that one good leg spoke to the masses staring at him. The sound of that solitary foot bashing into the gravel-covered courtyard was like an ice pick slamming into the ears and hearts of all who stared and heard. Most of the people could not bear the sound, turning their focus on something else.
Once Luca reached the carriage, he was set to go. Sertu met him, holding his worn day-to-day wooden leg for him to put on. Reaching her, Luca stopped and grabbed the leg. Sertu helped Luca secure it to his body.
“There you go, Master Luca,” she said as she finished wrapping up the leather strap around the leg. “Come on and get in, dear. We have to hurry.” But before letting him in the carriage, she could do nothing but hug him regardless of his general dislike of hugs.
Inside the carriage, he rode onward, silently, like a prisoner being sent to a nameless iron prison. Sertu turned to Luca, and searching the things of his heart, spoke to him. “Don’t worry, Master Luca,” she said. “Everything you experience has a role in life’s cosmic play. It’s possible that if you didn’t have a false leg you would have passed the test, and you would now be a Servantu, but that’s not how life goes about painting its great masterpiece. Some people have more obstacles to overcome than others, but that’s no excuse not to overcome them. Your hardship is not without its reward. But be patient, Master Luca. Please endure.”
“Thank you for your kind words, Sertu,” Luca said in sullen voice. “But I’ve already forgotten about my failure. It’s time to move on.”
“No, Luca,” Sertu said. “Never forget. You must always remember. Luca, we are endowed with memories to keep us on the right path—and to forget is to be without memory. There’s something evil in forgetfulness. Do understand, young master.” Luca just fidgeted in his seat.
By the time the carriage reached the manor, Luca had become restless. He was increasingly becoming more annoyed with his incompetence, and he felt something starting to overwhelm him. At first it came as tears that refused to drop down the hills of his cheeks but stayed swimming in the redness of his eyes. And those tears subsided, and his lips began to tremble, and his hands shook. The sleeping sun, which had just gone to slumber, had one last ray to give to the boy as it shone down his face and across his body, to his leg. He opened the carriage door with force, slamming his mass on the ground so hard that a dust cloud blew all around him. He ran to the manor and barged inside like a cannonball breaking through the strongest of barriers. He rushed up to his room on the second level and quickly locked himself inside.
Once inside his room, he stopped and took a deep breath. The entrapment of the four walls suffocated his mind, and it seemed as if the room started to spin in a haze of insecurity. Earlier he had felt better about his situation, but now that he was alone, darkness overcame him. He was angry, furious that he had failed—that he had been chosen to fail. How could he show his face to anyone without being recognized as the boy who fell?
Anger consumed him as moments passed. Like a marionette, it spun him around the room. The anger forced Luca to yell out into the open space and kick the things around him. He could not stand the smell of his soul. He reached for his wooden leg and ripped it off, and with the useless block of wood, he began swinging it across the room, making sure it made contact with whatever he could find.
There was a loud crash near his night desk with items flying off the shelves, and he took it to his worktable and slammed it on the surface. He swung it at the paintings he had hanging around the room, and finally, exhausted, Luca threw the wooden leg at the wall with force. But the leg did not break
. It ricocheted back to him, landing partly under his bed. Standing now with only one leg, he lost his strength and fell to the floor, making a loud thump.
Upon hearing the noise, Sertu, who had been standing outside Luca’s door since he had rushed in, knocked with urgency. “Master Luca!” she said. “Master Luca, what was that noise? Master Luca, are you all right? Master Luca, answer me, please?”
Luca did not answer, but just sat in silence. Since the boy refused to acknowledge her, Sertu took her keys and opened the door to his room. Once the door flew open, she saw him on the floor, with the room in disarray.
“Master Luca!” Sertu said as she was about to come into the room, before being stopped by Luca.
“No, Sertu!” Luca said, at first loudly and then in a calmer voice. “I’m all right. Just leave me for now. Do this, please. I’m all better now.”
Hesitant to leave him, Sertu heeded her master’s plea, but before she closed the door, she spoke what was in her heart. “I love you, my little prince,” Sertu said. “And as much as it pains me to say this, I must. Don’t run away from your suffering, Luca. Find solace in it.” She closed the door.
Luca was left to think on her words, and he breathed a sigh of exhaustion, falling back with his head on the floor. He stared at the ceiling and could think and holler no more. What did she mean, find solace in it? Depleted of all energy, he yearned for a good night’s sleep.
He made his way to his bed in an attempt to drift into a serene stupor. He would even welcome a nightmare, as long as it kept his mind on things other than his failure as a jubahn. He arranged himself on the bed, placing his eyes on the gritty, crease-burdened ceiling, something he had done for years, especially when he would put his mind on the thoughts of his mother. Though that night, falling asleep would prove harder than he could ever imagine.
Time passed, and lying on his bed, Luca’s eyes were fighting the idea of sleep, and they battled his lids to the end as they closed up on them, sealed tight like the earth on a newly buried coffin. Finally, he was free from all thoughts. His failure, his humiliation, his unknown future and his kinship to a beastly woman were all things left behind as he drifted into the land of sleep. His room was now serene.
He breathed steadily, and the wind played outside his window: a frolicking wind, tickled by the meanderings of a clownish moon. A small candle was the only presence providing the warmth of light in a room that was heavy in shadows. The coldness of the oversized bricks crowded the space with darkness, and the tiny candle struggled to keep afloat in a sea of blackness.
More time passed, and the sleeping boy lay quietly in the comfort of his bed. The silence in the room was disturbed by a sound of creaking noises, like trees moving outside his window as the wind bullied them with arrogance. There was also scraping among the crevices of the bricks, and the room’s floor began to crack, as if moving or settling. Soon after, the wind appeared to take an interest in Luca’s condition, for it started to make rough sounds, as if circling just in front of his window, and as if the wind conspired with the darkness abound, it leapt into the room and flicked the candle to its doom.
All was shadow now, for the voyeur moon, now interested in the wind’s foolery, peeked inside and shined a faint light into the center of the room. With the chambers now darkly asthmatic, with no true light breathing throughout the walls except for the wheezing of the moonlight sweeping the floors like a worn broom, the place was ripe for an unwanted visitor. So with no time to spare, evil made its presence known.
The top-right corner brick near Luca’s bed trembled, and it rocked and scraped, as if taking a life of its own. It transformed into a familiar object, that of a small cage. And in this cage was shadow, and in the shadow was a horror of a beast, which broke the bars of his confinement. The Nonio, as it was known in the lands of Esterra, vaulted onto Luca’s bed, landing softly, breathing a sigh of relief as it failed to wake the boy it would soon turn into shadow.
***
Sword from the Sky Page 10
