“Hello, Charlie. I’ve been waiting for you,” an aged but smooth voice spoke on Charlie’s left.
Charlie spun her horse around abruptly at the sound to see a woman standing just inside the clearing. She wore a simple rust-colored, ankle-length robe tied at the waist with a white cord, and her white, wispy hair floated around her head like dandelion fluff. Her eyes were a startling pale blue and seemed to defy her age. She smiled slightly at the girl’s reaction, her hands clasped quietly.
Charlie regarded her suspiciously and did not dismount. She had been very certain no one was standing there previously, and she disliked behind sneaked up upon.
“Won’t you come inside, Charlie?” the woman asked. “I’m sure you’re a little tired.” She turned to Mystic, whose ears were pricked intently in her direction. “What a pretty horse! She’s one your father bred himself, isn’t she?” She held out a hand for the horse to sniff.
“You knew my father?” Charlie asked, confused. She studied the woman’s pale, lined face closely as she dismounted.
“I know of him.” The woman smiled. “A fine man. His reputation always proceeds him. Jacob! Come get Charlie’s horse.”
A skinny, yellow-headed boy shot out of the barn-shaped building, accompanied by an equally skinny and yellow dog. He skidded to a halt next to them, spooking Mystic. With a careful glance at the woman, he bowed to Charlie and held out a hand for the horse’s reins.
Charlie kept a tight hold on her horse. “Just hold on a minute. Who are you? Are you the person who called me here?”
“Yes. And after you come inside and wash the dirt off your face, we can talk about why. Jacob will take good care of your horse. She’ll be perfectly comfortable in the barn.”
Reluctantly, Charlie surrendered the reins, giving the boy a warning look. He met her gaze with solemn brown eyes. She warily followed the woman toward the house, carrying her saddlebags over one shoulder and her longbow and quiver over the other. This was what she had run away from home for—it had very well better be worth it.
* * *
2
Daggers and Quests
Charlie washed her hands and face and combed the dust from her hair by the light of a lamp in the tiny, windowless room she had been told would be hers during her stay. She didn’t bother to change clothes; she didn’t have anything cleaner to wear anyway. Washing clothes was a skill she hadn’t quite mastered yet. She wiped the dirt from her boots and sword scabbard, then studied her reflection in the cloudy mirror above the basin. She remembered the pretty girl she had seen in the mirror before she left home. Now she was amused to see the skin of her nose and cheeks burned bright pink and a little flaky from the sun and her hair oily with loose strands gone wayward. She rubbed her tender cheeks and smiled before looking away.
A soft knock on the door drew her attention. Opening it, she saw the blond-haired boy standing on the other side. Jacob beckoned to her with one hand. Charlie followed him through the hallways, noting that every time she turned a corner she had to travel up or down a few steps. Once they even descended a whole staircase. Apparently the house did not have a single level; it was constructed on some seemingly random design. The size of the building from the outside also did not seem to account for the amount of space they traversed inside, and she wondered if the house was built partly underground.
Finally Jacob stopped before a heavy wooden door. He opened the door, bowed courteously, and gestured for her to enter. Sitting on the floor facing the door was the woman. She gestured calmly to the cushion across from the one she herself sat on. Charlie dropped onto it and waited warily.
“I’m so glad you came, Charlie,” Grandmother said warmly. “I was certain you would. A girl like you can’t resist an adventure.” She smiled indulgently.
Charlie said nothing.
“Of course, since you received my letter, you know I am called Grandmother.”
“Yes,” Charlie replied simply. What she still didn’t know was the meaning behind the letter, so she decided to be skeptical until she was told. Something about the woman’s exaggerated sweetness put her on guard.
Grandmother sat without speaking for a long moment, smiling like she found something to be particularly pleasing.
Charlie cleared her throat. “I think this is the time when you are supposed to tell me why you called me here.”
The woman gave a forced little chuckle. “Yes, where to begin?” she murmured, examining her gnarled hands.
“At the beginning, please.” Charlie did not know why she felt a sense of urgency about the matter, but something, maybe instinct, made her feel this was important. It was the same feeling that had led her to run away from home to meet this woman. She did not feel like small talk.
A gleam in the older woman’s pale blue eyes suggested that she had noticed Charlie’s rising impatience. “Ah, to the point then. The Order of the Dagger. Their beginning took place long ago, even before the Great War. People minded less when women were independent and capable in those days. Oh, the burden of pot-scrubbing and child-raising was still the lot in life for most women, but it was acknowledged that a select few were what they called ‘special’ and allowed to participate in more masculine pursuits.
“But the Order itself was a small, selective association of very exceptional women. During those days when there was much unrest and war between countries, the Order formed as an attempt to establish a unifying force of women who would act as ambassadors of peace between the nations. There were twelve spots in the Order, reserved for only those who could prove themselves worthy. To become a member, the woman would search for a magically hidden dagger; if she found it, she was considered worthy to join.”
Grandmother stopped and glanced at Charlie as if expecting a question or protest of disbelief. Charlie said nothing. “The twelve daggers, the symbols of membership, were imbued with their magic by the first member, the founder of the Order. Her name was Jordana. The daggers alone decide who will use them, and they are indestructible. Each dagger has a certain stone set in the hilt to identify it from the others. The dagger is passed to whomever will take the place of its former owner, provided that her successor completes the quest.”
Charlie considered all of this information thoughtfully. She felt like she had just been told a wild fairy tale one would tell a child at bedtime, only this was being passed off as history. She also wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t being led on for sport. She had an accepting nature that could handle the fantastical, but this was a little too strange. “And the quest?”
“When Jordana, the founder of the Order, was still alive, she might send one of the girls who wanted to be part of her Order to find a griffin feather or a dragon scale or to do some hard task she didn’t want to do herself. But each dagger was spelled to hide itself for the next person to seek out after its original owner either died or was no longer a member. That is the purpose of the quest; to find the dagger.”
“How does one know where to look?” Charlie wanted to know. “Or do you?”
Grandmother shook her head. “The place they hide is usually somehow significant to the seeker. People that searched before would usually start about the place where the previous owner died or somewhere she frequented before looking elsewhere. But if you truly want to find the dagger, and you are deemed worthy to find it; then you will.”
Charlie was prevented from expressing how stupid she thought that sounded by Jacob entering with a tray bearing a pitcher and two cups.
“Thank you, Jacob,” Grandmother said, and Jacob left.
Watching her pour the drinks, Charlie voiced her next question. “But what did they do exactly, after becoming members?”
“They were ambassadors mostly, though many of them just continued their previous lives. The appeal was largely that it forced people from different backgrounds to coexist as equals. Though some countries were quite proud to have a member in the group and invited other members to their courts as honored guests.” Grandmother shr
ugged. “It was reasonably effective, though perhaps not quite as world-changing as Jordana had envisioned. She underestimated people’s capacity to hate each other.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?” Charlie asked with a growing sense of suspicion. She could already tell she was going to be offered a role in some outlandish escapade.
“Why do you think?” Grandmother asked innocently, taking a dainty sip of her drink.
“Because you want me to go on one of these ridiculous quests?” Charlie said flatly.
Grandmother looked pleased. “I knew you would figure it out; you’re such a bright girl. You are the one I have chosen to bring back the Order.”
Charlie fingered her sword-hilt as she thought. There was something called the Order of the Dagger, and you became one of its twelve members by completing some sort of quest to find a dagger. And this strange person sitting across from her wanted her to be one of those people. As vast as her willingness to believe was, this had exhausted it. “Why?”
“Because I think you can do it,” Grandmother replied. “I have spent countless years looking for the one who could bring back the Order, and I have finally found you.”
“Why does it need to be brought back?” Charlie wanted to know.
Grandmother took a deep breath. “What do you know about the Great War?”
“Nothing.”
“Of course. No one has ever taught you anything. About a hundred and fifty years ago Tandora fought a great war with a country called Shala. Many other countries were involved through sending money and troops or creating political alliances and bargains, but in the end it came down to a struggle between those two nations.”
“Wait,” Charlie interrupted. “Is Shala some country in the western lands that had its name changed? And the last war in Tandora was an uprising that was put down.”
“No, Shala lies to the east of Tandora, across the water. In the end, the two countries had sustained losses so great that they were both too poor and stripped of resources to continue fighting. A peace treaty was organized by an outside council, and the war was ended. The two countries agreed to break off all contact and all trade for the duration of the treaty.
“Hoping to erase all memory of Shala, the Tandoran king had maps and documents mentioning Shala destroyed and invented a revised history to take their place. Silence about the country was commanded, and those that spoke out were quieted. A stone wall had been built around the coastline during the war for defense, and a forest was grown to hide the wall. He used mages to add magical elements to the defenses. Those stories you have heard from your cradle about the Black Sea being cursed are all the inventions of an angry king and his followers—Shala lies on the other side. The idea was that no one would remember Shala since no one was allowed to speak of it—rumors even spread that the country had been destroyed by their gods. The command of silence and the rumors did their work; it’s one hundred and fifty years later, and few in Tandora even know that a country called Shala ever existed.”
“How is it possible to make an entire nation believe another country doesn’t exist?” Charlie demanded. “People may be stupid and forgetful, but there is no way every trace of another country’s existence could be wiped out, especially in such a short time. And if it is really across the sea, you could just sail to it. Some people must remember.”
“Of course they do.” Grandmother smiled slightly. “They just aren’t allowed to speak about what they know. Anyone who has been out of the country can figure it out, obviously, but since the masses do not have access to that kind of travel or education, they don’t know. The story was passed down by people who thought it was wrong to try to forget or change the past. But like all tales told only by mouth, it fades and changes after a while until it is hardly true anymore or gone completely. And there is only the question of how quickly the king can have the people that speak out too loudly threatened into silence. Many of the country’s most influential people are well aware of the history, but they are quiet about it, to save their positions. Most that do know, or are allowed to know, have the wisdom to keep it to themselves for fear of execution.”
Charlie shifted uncomfortably. “What does this have to do with the Order of the Dagger?”
Grandmother smiled again. “This type of senseless destruction and war was what the Order was founded to prevent. With members to represent different countries, they were able to preserve some manner of peaceful relationships. They smoothed out quite a few misunderstandings. It is time the Order was brought back—it will be needed soon.” She stood. “Are you hungry? It’s time for lunch.”
“No. Needed for what? How can an order exist without anyone remembering it? How can a weapon be made to do things like what you said they could do?” Charlie was beginning to feel very frustrated and overwhelmed by all of this new information. “You can’t just tell me all of this and not explain it.”
“I will in time,” was the firm reply. “But there is no need to force you to accept it all at once. Now come along.”
Charlie followed her from the room, feeling very dissatisfied and more than a little confused.
* * *
Two suits of ancient armor leaned against one wall of the small underground storeroom beneath Grandmother’s little house, both missing pieces. On the opposite wall hung an eclectic collection of bows, swords, axes, pikes, and spears. Pieces of horse tack, chests of weapons, blankets, tents, and other supplies covered much of the floor space. A thick layer of dust covered everything in the room.
Charlie had been sent to the storeroom to collect all of the odds and ends she had realized she had forgotten on her trip. Grandmother had not been any more forthcoming during lunch, and she had quickly abandoned Charlie to Jacob, who had brought her here. After lighting the dusty lamps, Charlie picked through the baskets and crates, stopping occasionally to study some oddity she came across. When she had neatly piled her chosen supplies, she absently began to study the array of swords on the wall. Her own blade was too short for her now. She had grown over the five years since her father had given it to her and needed a new one. She tried a few different swords, not quite pleased with any of them.
As she practiced a parry, the door swung open, and Grandmother entered, her hands tucked into the long sleeves of her robe. “Make any choices yet, Dearest?” she asked.
Charlie nodded, gesturing to the pile in the middle of the room and returned the sword to the rack.
“Good. Have you found a sword you like? I want you to be well prepared for this journey.”
Charlie let the comment about her “journey” slide by. “I couldn’t really find one that suited.”
The older woman was silent for a moment, then said, “There is one more you might try. I will get it for you.”
Watching her leave, Charlie shuddered at how silently the woman floated down the hallway. She was, without doubt, the strangest person Charlie had ever met. As warm and gentle as she affected to be, she seemed dangerous and manipulative underneath. Charlie was sensitive to lies, even subtle ones, and instinctively she did not trust Grandmother. Something about the woman made her think her priorities lay more with this Order she wanted brought back than with what was best for the girl she had chosen to revive it.
Grandmother reappeared in the doorway holding a broadsword in a black scabbard. She crossed the room and held the sword out hilt-first to Charlie, her thin, pale arm not trembling at the weight.
Taking a firm hold of the hilt, Charlie slid the sword free. The hilt was smooth and black, instead of the usual silver or bronze. There was a raised design around the crossbar of the hilt and across the top. Her fingers found a shallow indentation in the center of the hilt, as if some decoration had been there at one time. The blade itself was silver and a bit longer than Charlie was used to, but it was definitely the finest sword she had ever held. She swung it through the air in a graceful arc, surprised at how natural it felt to her.
“Do you like this one?”
“Yes,” Charlie replied without looking up from studying the black-hilted sword.
“Good,” said Grandmother. “You’ll find it a very interesting weapon.”
Now Charlie did glance up, eyes slanted in suspicion. “What do you mean?”
The woman smiled. “The sword you now hold is an Order legend. It belonged to the first member. I think it’s rather fitting; after all, you being the one to initiate this new era of the Order.” Grandmother’s eyes studied Charlie’s face. “Maybe you are the one she left the sword for.”
“Well, I’m not sure I want it then,” Charlie said reluctantly. She didn’t want to give it back, but she also didn’t want her accepting it as a gift to be read as a promise to go on this ridiculous quest.
“You might as well have it,” Grandmother replied. “It was just gathering dust anyway. It is too fine a sword to be left unused.”
Agreeing inwardly, Charlie hung the scabbard from her sword belt. She could always give it back later.
* * *
“What are the twelve stones?” Charlie asked. “The ones on the daggers. You didn’t say before.” She sat in the windowsill of the large window in the only reasonably high place in the house, her arms wrapped around her knees as she watched Grandmother stitching a tunic. She had been wondering what her family was doing, if they would be very angry when she returned or just grateful to see her safe, and she wanted a distraction from imaging all the possible punishments that awaited her.
The white-haired woman glanced up from her sewing, her pale blue eyes sharp. “They were sapphire, amethyst, garnet, opal, moonstone, onyx, aquamarine, peridot, citrine, emerald, ruby, and alexandrite. You are to find the sapphire dagger.” She continued to stitch. “Jordana also composed some arcane list of elements and what she called “virtues” when she made the Order. There’s a list of them somewhere in a little history written about them. I’ll find it for you to read.”
The Silver Key Page 3