A Choice of Blades: The Blade Remnant, Book One

by D. N. Woodward

  An evening wind faintly whistled up the canyon’s entrance, drawing out the stalemate between their group and the native. The man’s eyes stopped their roving when they landed on Leon and Merle. He tilted his head and Leon self-consciously took a step back. Perceptive eyes studied him and Merle harder than he had the others until those eyes flickered away, and he spontaneously broke into a smile.

  His smile was as warm and friendly as his glare had been toneless and calculating. It was even a bit endearing, in a rascally sort of way, due to a missing front tooth in his bottom jaw. He peppered the group with foreign questions, gesturing wildly at their clothing.

  Leon noticed when Ben glanced off to his left, where one of the guys in beast mode stood, hidden in the darkening shadows.

  “Wait!” Leon cried.

  Ben paused, half turning to look at him, “This ain’t the time, boy, unless you know what he’s saying?”

  “No, well, not exactly. But—just wait.” He couldn’t simply allow Ben and his team to hurt an innocent old man if he could help it and something about the words the old man used tickled Leon's mind in a familiar sort of way. No matter if the old man looked perfectly capable of dishing out some hurt himself.

  He took a step forward and held his arms out to each side, palms up. The man continued to babble but discretely pivoted to address Leon directly. At least he didn’t appear to feel threatened. Yet.

  Leon began talking. Slowly at first. Then, as the man quieted, he continued in a gentle, easy pace. He introduced the group. Told the man they weren’t there to hurt him. Asked him if he cared to share his home. He spoke of simple things in a calm voice. He’d always had a knack for calming animals with a similar type of style, and he hoped some of that might rub off in the present situation. Words mattered less than the truth beneath them and the tone in which they rang.

  Eventually, the man dipped his head in acknowledgment, with a still amused expression on his face. He indicated he would like to try talking and Leon nodded in agreement.

  The man began his speech slowly, just like Leon had done a moment before. Only, now that his words were spoken slowly and intentionally, the nuance in his language rang beautiful and fluid. The words flowed effortlessly together in a soft poetic cadence.

  As Leon listened, it was like a song emerged from within his speech. At first, he thought he might have heard the song before. Then, gradually, the pitch and cadence grew familiar. Finally, the words to the song made sense, like he had known them all along and just needed to be reminded!

  The absurdity of the notion lasted only a moment before Leon realized the man talking about how dangerous it was to be traveling through those parts, “…would not have been good for you to have been out—”

  “I know what you are saying! I can understand you!” Leon stopped talking, his mouth moving like a fish out of water. Had he just spoken in that same fluid language?

  Gasps of surprise behind him confirmed he was indeed conversing with the old man.

  “But, of course, you can, young man. The question is, why aren't you all able to understand common Fayden, yes?” His cryptic smile told Leon the question was his to know and theirs to ponder.

  Ben barged in before Leon could answer, speaking to Leon and directing him to translate, “I’m Ben Heegan, the leader of this expedition. I have many questions I would like you to answer.”

  It initially struck Leon dumbfounded that he suddenly knew a new language, but there was no time to split hairs. The language was so intuitive, it tumbled off his lips like he had known it his whole life. It was like something had finally clicked into place within his mind. The words came as natural to him as a breath of air. This was yet another mystery to attempt to sort through when time permitted. He translated for Ben.

  Before he finished, the old man burst out in laughter. Gradually gaining control of himself he continued speaking to Leon, “This man takes himself very seriously, does he not?” A not-so-subtle wink told them all how seriously the man took Ben's requests.

  He addressed the group as a whole, a twinkle shimmering in his eye, “My name is Ferschall, son of Grimm. Your names are yet to be learned, yes? Time is short and darkness is descending. I offer hospitality. Do you understand me?”

  Leon shook his head no, but Ferschall ignored him, “Good, we are friends now! You friends are welcome to go on and use my home. Go, rest, refresh yourselves. What’s mine is yours for this night. I’ll be back later, and we will talk more? Yes? Good!” Leon quickly relayed the message.

  Something doesn't feel right. Why would this stranger just give us the use of his house?

  Before Leon could voice his concerns, Ferschall briskly stepped forward through the group. He stopped next to Ben. While leaning in conspiratorially and motioning Ben to do the same, he muttered loud enough for Leon to hear and translate once more, “Not too wise to have those pups running loose, you better keep them close. There’s big bad trouble out tonight!” Then, right in Ben’s face, he erupted in manic cackling laughter once more.

  Once Leon finished conveying the message, Ben cursed a few lines that would make a Drill Sergeant blush as Ferschall slipped away into the night. However, it was Shana's comment that made Leon grin as he walked through the door into the warmth of a rustic cozy cottage. “That Ferschall guy has got to be nuts! I like him already!”

  # # #

  Marveling at the dry warmth of the cottage, Leon shook and stomped the cold from his waterlogged shoes. Outside the temperature still hadn’t dropped to freezing, but the combo of chill and wet had taken their toll, and he was extremely thankful for the opportunity to trade the shivers for a dry seat next to a warm fire.

  The dwelling’s exterior was spartan. It was hewn of rough-cut native rock, with jagged corners and small slit windows. However, the interior carried an entirely different note. Wood trim walls and a drop-down bottom floor bolstered a wide open and welcoming layout that elicited feelings of cozy comfort. The large common area consisted of thick fur rugs over bedrock floors. Artistic designs were hand chiseled into the gray rock walls, and dark wood beam ceiling joists brought the room together. In addition, a well-crafted cave entrance against the far wall led directly into a one-bedroom nook, carved out from the cliff wall against which the cottage stood.

  A fire gave off a warm glow as it licked at a few large chunks of ebony wood within a stone hearth, nestled comfortably in the corner. The crackle and pop of the flame would be a welcome balm to soothe frayed nerves when the time came to bed down.

  No conventional chairs could be seen, but one chunky wooden boulder sat comfortably close to the fire. The wooden boulder’s center was carved to fit the contours of a husky man’s semi-resting form, similar to that of large, rounded, lazy boy recliner. Worn and battered arches spoke of years of wear. They lent a smooth, comfortable finish to the seat. Delicate carvings covered the coarse exterior with many of the same type of hieroglyphics observed on the path through the ruins.

  However, Leon thought it was the pantry area, which held the most curious feature of all. Stacks of broken and repaired pottery containers rested in tidy piles beneath wood shelving and to the side of a rough, finished stone countertop. Leon picked up one of the repaired pieces and glanced at the intricate colors embedded within the sealed seam along the fractured grooves. The beauty of those colorful seams provided an artistic flair to otherwise unadorned dinnerware. It slowly dawned on him that the repaired shard fragments most definitely resembled some of the pieces he had observed littered about the ruins.

  Merle was immediately at home. His sniffer worked overtime to cover all the items in his new domain before he made his customary three circles and plopped down near the fire.

  Leon motioned for Shana to join him, “You think our Mr. Ferschall uses the ruins up above for all this pottery? Awfully odd hobby, isn’t it?”

  “That would make sense. Maybe he salvages this stuff to sell it later?”

  They studied several of the repaired pieces and f
ound a few older, nicer piles under some leather hides. Some even had worn symbols and hieroglyphics imprinted within them. Dust covered the pottery despite the thick leather coverings draped over them.

  Reed offered his two cents as well, “Or maybe Ferschall’s just a crazy old hermit with a thing for ceramics?”

  Ben and his men didn’t bother to stop and ponder Ferschall’s vocational pursuits. They piled up the remnants of their relatively useless gear along one corner and scurried about the cottage, both inside and out, attempting to secure the premises.

  Eventually, they managed to arm themselves when one of them uncovered several dozen short metal spears in a covered bundle beneath one of the windows. The palpable relief from all those hardened mercenaries at finding a few pointy sticks was comical to Leon and Shana. Leon was also pleasantly surprised to find Reed just as amused at all the Type-A hysterics. Unfortunately, the laughter from the kitchen area reminded Ben of the proverbial burr under his saddle.

  "Leon! Get over here, now."

  "Okay, what is it, Ben?"

  "Don't give me that! I want to know what's going on with you. How do you know the local tongue? Who are you, boy?"

  Leon shrugged. "Like I've said before, I don't have any memory from before Gus found me. I'm as surprised as the rest of you that I understand ole Ferschall. I know it seems impossible to fathom, but it’s like I've always known the language and Ferschall speaking was all it took to jog my memory."

  Ben gave him a long, hard look. "Fine, for now, maybe that's true, maybe you're hiding something. Either way, you are going to begin teaching us that language first thing tomorrow. Clear?"

  "I can try." Leon rolled his eyes when he turned back to Shana and Reed.

  Ben had his men direct the three of them, along with Merle, into the cave-looking room where they would be confined from mischief for their own good.

  A few minutes later, one of the men, Griggs, supplied them with a dinner of MRE packets and a preciously small pint of water. The water did more to remind them they were thirsty than to quench their thirst, but they couldn’t exactly complain. Until they found a fresh supply, they all had to stretch what they had brought. The three of them made pallets from some thick hides they found in the shadows against the far wall and bedded down for the night.

  Once everything quieted down a bit, Leon posed a question that he’d puzzled over all day, “Reed, before I…left, Gus and Ethan both made something clear. They told me to take your Blade when you offered it, said both me and Shana needed to take it. Was this some type of coded message for you?”

  It was too dark to see Reed’s face, and he didn’t say anything, didn’t even move for a long while. Just when Leon assumed an answer wasn’t coming, Reed spoke up, “It wasn’t code. They meant just what they said. Only, it doesn’t really make sense, people don’t just ‘take up the Blade.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, in our world, our identity is extremely important. No one can know what we really are. That's why children aren't taught of their heritage until they are around your age. Then, once they know about the Blade, it takes years to master what you need to know to effectively wield it. I spent close to two years in training before I ever laid a finger on mine and, even still, I feel there’s so much I don’t know.”

  “But you only have one Blade, right? How would that even work for all three of us?”

  Shana spoke up for the first time, “That’s a mystery they don’t seem willing to spread around. I’ve been told there are no new Blades available, but more initiates at the academy pop up with Blades each year. Yet the formerly Bladed instructors all retain theirs as well. Been puzzling over that little factoid for the past year and all I ever get is, ‘you’ll see.’ Really though Reed, just tell him why we all need it, eventually.”

  “Fine. That, at least, I can do. You see, the Blade provides many different purposes. But the most important thing it does is to allow its wielder to ignore the compulsion to change shape on moonless nights.”

  “What? So, shifters don’t change on the full moon?”

  “Again, Leon, we aren’t like those stereotypic characters from the movies. Although skin-changers can technically transition anytime, direct sunlight makes the transition extremely painful. Not to mention the eventual mental breakdown it creates.

  "Anyone who’s ever tried to subdue the effects of sunlight without the Blade is about as safe as a child playing with fire in a hayfield. An Unbladed’s exposure to light during transition leads the mind down a wicked twisted path that the body soon follows. The point is, when you carry a Blade, your body doesn't demand that you change on moonless nights, it nullifies the effects of the disease in our blood, though there are some other individual perks as well.”

  “Great, so until I’m trained up enough to take up the Blade, I’ll be stuck being forced to change into some sort of mystery monster on moonless nights? Or otherwise driven crazy by sunny days. Did I tell you guys I felt a shock in the middle of the afternoon the other day? Am I already losing my mind?”

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist. Most young skin-changers don’t fully transition into their full form until at least their twentieth birthday, and I've never heard of someone getting sun sickness during the transition period. Hopefully, we all find our way back long before—”

  Shana interrupted him again, “But I turn twenty next month. So, you will begin helping us to prepare to take the Blade, just in case, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah I suppose I can start to show you guys some stuff when things calm down. Now, I need to know something. How in the world do you know the Fayden language, Leon? No one has been back from our world to Fayden in centuries. But back home, in our world, that language supposedly died out over a hundred years ago!”

  "I wasn't lying when I told Ben I have no idea! I don't understand any of this, much less the language stuff!"

  Reed was quiet for a while before responding, "Fine, we better get some sleep while we still can."

  Leon couldn't help himself. "Okay, but one more question. How come Merle was healed and so much of the metal didn't make it through the portal?"

  Reed to a moment, then cautiously responded, "Those are two questions and I'm out of my depth when it comes to the question of healing, but I think the missing metal has something to do with the purity of the metals that disappeared. Alloys couldn't pass through for some reason, while more pure metal like the gold and the silver flask had no problem."

  "And the Blade," Shana added.

  "Sure, the Blade, too," Reed amended.

  What in the world is his Blade made from if it's not an alloy?

  Leon had never heard of a knife with any measure of durability that wasn't an alloy, but otherwise, Reed's theory kind of made sense. As he rolled over on his side and felt Merle flop down at his back, he reached down and pulled out the metal medallion Gus had given him. Apart from the items Reed had just mentioned, it was the only other metal item he knew of that made it through the portal. Unfortunately, the chain was gone. Only the medallion remained. He couldn’t help but wonder at its purpose. Gus seemed to want him to keep it a secret, no matter what.

  Sighing under the weight of so many new realizations, he tucked the medallion back down his britches and decided he would wait to study it more before he risked sharing it with his friends. Enough bombshells for one day. And regardless, he didn’t feel ready to ask another question he wasn’t ready to have answered. His head was already spinning with the information overload from the last day or two.

  In the end, bone-tired muscles and a lack of sleep soon won out over racing thoughts. He drifted off to a tumultuous dream of feeding cattle that grew fangs while they chased him into a desert, and of a certain furry four-legged friend who leaped between them and him as they sought to run him down.

  Chapter 7

  A pounding echoed through the walls and between Leon’s ears. It stopped briefly but returned even more forceful. He cracked an eye open and saw cand
lelight shining through the open archway. It took a moment for him to realize he wasn’t in his room at the ranch.

  The thought was even further punctuated by the voice of an annoyed woman, grumbling about her need for sleep. And any notion of a typical morning in Leon Waldman’s life on the ranch completely shattered once he realized said woman had burrowed up against him, butt to back. It took a few seconds, but it all eventually fell into place. Merle nuzzled close and gave his face a lick as if to remind him he was there too.

  Dang dog! Leave it to Merle to ruin a moment…even if it's not really a moment.

  The knocking continued until one of the men in the main room gave a command and the door squealed open. Muffled voices could be heard afterward.

  "Leon! Get out here!" Ben called out.

  Leon gently shoved his four-legged friend aside and crept out of his pallet on the floor. He stretched the kinks out of his knotted back as he stood. His first thought was he really was going to have to do something about finding a softer place to sleep if he was gonna be there for an extended amount of time. His second thought reminded him of how much of a pansy that first thought made him sound.

  By then, the voices coming from the main room were multiplying and the conversation’s tone took an urgent turn. Reed was unsurprisingly absent.

  He reached down and shook Shana until she swatted him away. He never took her for a grumpy morning person, but he’d never woken up next to her either. Both thoughts made him nervous, and he shuffled on into the main room before he gave her an opportunity to set him straight on any other assumptions he might have wrong.

  He and Merle ducked out of the cave and stopped in the entryway.

  Ferschall stood stone still, straddling an open doorway. His grizzled appearance struck a fearsome note in the candlelight. Gone was any hint of smirking humor in the man they met earlier that night.

  The man named Gunther lay unconscious on the floor while Cooper hovered above him, checking vitals. Ben’s red face punctuated a solid vein, throbbing on his forehead. The other two men held their metal spears out as if they were ready to skewer Ferschall if he made any sudden movement their direction.