The Living Sword 2: The Road Ahead

by Pemry Janes

  “I don’t follow.”

  The Immortal held the sword low, the blade caught the afternoon sun. Which was strange, since they’d set off in the morning and hadn’t been traveling that long. “A living sword might live longer than someone made from flesh and blood, but time still grinds them down in the end. At least they are not abominations that prey on others to sustain their own retched existence. Those are embarrassing.”

  Eurik shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “That’s not . . . I wanted to know if you know who made this particular sword.”

  “Oh.” He blinked at Eurik. “Yes, of course. What else could you be asking?” His gaze sharpened. “But how did you get your hands on it?”

  “It belonged to my parents.”

  “Your parents?” The Immortal hummed, then slapped his forehead. “Your names, I forgot to ask for your names. What are they?”

  “My name is Eurik, hers is Silver Fang, and you’re holding Misthell.”

  “Eurik.” His eyes grew unfocused and for a while only the sounds of the wind and the forest filled the clearing. Eurik was about to break that silence when the Immortal’s attention snapped back to the here and now. “You asked me if I recognize this sword? I do. It was made here.” He chuckled, then pointed at Eurik with his empty hand. “And so were you.”

  His humor fled as swiftly as it had returned. “But why all these questions? Why haven’t you asked One Claw and Ardent those? And how did you end up getting trained by the san?”

  “I . . .” Eurik took a deep breath. “I was raised by them. My parents and I washed ashore on the island. They were dead. I didn’t even know their names until a few months ago, when I saw Misthell for the first time.”

  “And then you journeyed here, picking up one of Raven Eye’s daughters as a traveling companion along the way. Yes, this is a story I want to hear. You can stay. I’ll tell Jakhob that we have guests. And to draw you both a bath.” He sniffed. “The bath first,” he said, handing Misthell back.

  Eurik did not follow the Immortal right away when the man made his way to the house. “How did he know who you are?”

  “Have you forgotten my lessons already, Rock? He read my draen, and my mother is well known.” She twitched her shoulders in a shrug. “Cheer up, it seems you will soon have the answers to all your questions.”

  He nodded, slowly, then faster. “It does.” Eurik smiled as he returned Misthell to his customary spot. Finally, he’d find out who these One Claw and Ardent were. And maybe, how they all winded up on San. They followed the Immortal into his home.

  ***

  The house on the inside was cluttered, a maze of hallways and rooms, many filled with all manner of items and furniture. Leraine couldn’t even hope to identify where it all came from or how old much of it was, though the bronze swords she saw hanging above the hearth had to be ancient. They were clearly the work of her people, but nobody had used bronze to make weapons since the arrival of the horse people.

  They’d entered the house shortly after the Immortal and had already lost sight of him. Rock looked over at her, a silent question in his eyes. What now?

  A woman walked into the wide hallway, rubbing her hands on a dirty white apron as she shot them a smile. Her hair was a very light brown with a lot of white streaked through. “So it is true, we have guests.”

  “Yes. But could you speak Linesan? My friend’s Irelian is poor.”

  The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear, but it can’t possibly be any worse than my Linesan.”

  Leraine nodded. “Then Misthell will have to translate.”

  The horse woman looked Rock up and down, settling on the sword on his back. “That’s the name of the living sword, I take it? Well, my name is Flede.”

  “Silver Fang.” She waited for Rock to introduce himself. Leraine would not help him accrue more bad luck by spreading his soul name around. He might not like Rock, but you didn’t get to decide your face name like you could pick clothes or jewelry.

  “The Immortal did not mention you. He only talked about a man called Jakhob,” Misthell translated for Rock.

  “Jakhob? Oh, he doesn’t work here. He left more than ten years ago. It’s just me and Tarvod here. That’s my husband. You’re surprised,” Flede said. Leraine nodded reluctantly. She had no desire to offend someone like the Immortal. Far too dangerous.

  Flede sniffed. “You shouldn’t be. I’d like to see you live for five centuries and keep everything straight in your head. And Aethel only knows how long our lord has actually lived.” She shook her head. “But enough of that, he said you could use a bath and he was right enough. Ahem . . . do you want to share?”

  “Separate will be fine,” Leraine quickly said.

  “Not trying to offend, dear. But we get all sorts of folk here with some very strange customs. I’ve learned long ago to ask about even the obvious things. Come, follow me and I’ll explain how things work.”

  She led them up a set of stairs, passing a row of portraits. Some were of the Immortal, others weren’t. “How long have you worked here?” Rock asked through the blade as they ascended.

  “Pooh, that’s a good question. It’s, what, ten years now since Brunschwer and Donkelnach went to war? So Tarvod and I have been here for fourteen years now.”

  Leraine pondered those names. Brunschwer and Donkelnach were two pieces of the puzzle that formed the Irelian Empire, pieces that went their own way whenever they could. Those two domains bordered the Donkelholm, the Silent Forest, and they’d had a dispute over timber rights more than twelve years ago, not ten.

  “Then you never heard of two Mochedan who learned how to make a living sword here?”

  Flede tapped her lips. “Can’t say that I . . . No, Jakhob mentioned something once. Complained about someone’s singing. Yes, he was drunk at the time, but he toasted to never having to hear a beastlie sing. Sorry, not my words. I don’t approve of such language myself. You lot are people as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Nothing else,” Rock said.

  The woman shook her head, pursing her lips and clicking her tongue. “Can’t think of anything. Why do you ask?”

  “They were my parents.”

  “Your parents? They must be something if he took them on as students. He doesn’t do that much. Why, I only know of two in my time here. Let me guess: filled your head with all sorts of stories growing up, came to find out if they were true?”

  “No.” Rock could manage that much Irelian, but it left Flede flustered.

  “Oh, well, ah, we’re here. There’s another one next door, but why don’t you both come in while I show you how to work the taps. And don’t worry about the warm water, as far as I can tell it never runs out. Don’t know why, even after I asked.” Flede shook her head and led them into a tiled room.

  ***

  The bath had taps for hot and cold water and Eurik spent some time soaking. Even here, even now, he found his quest for answers stymied. He shouldn’t have been so rude to Flede. It wasn’t her fault she never met them.

  He emerged for dinner feeling cleaner than he had in weeks, but his curiosity had only grown since he stepped foot inside Vanha Forest. About his parents, about Misthell, and about the Immortal. How did he know Eurik had been trained by the san? Did he know the Ways?

  Led by Flede’s directions and the smell of food, he found the kitchen where the woman and the man who had to be her husband were busy. Silver Fang had already taken a seat and greeted him when he entered the room.

  “Hello,” Tarvod said in heavily accented Linesan, made even harder to understand because of the meat sizzling in the pan. “How are you?”

  Flede said something in Irelian and her husband replied in the same language.

  “She said that he shouldn’t show off, otherwise you might try to hold an actual conversation with him. He replied that his Linesan wasn’t that bad,” Misthell said.

  “I am fine,” Eurik replied in Irelian. His command of the language continued to
be poor, but spending so much time with the Gored Axes had improved it. A little. “Thank you. This smells great.”

  Tarvod’s reply, however, escaped his grasp entirely. It sounded cheerful and there was a “you” in there, Eurik caught that much, but he needed Misthell to translate everything else. “Yes,” he agreed, staying with Linesan this time, “this place does seem wondrous. Ah, when will the Immortal be joining us?”

  “Oh, he has already eaten,” Flede replied. “As have we, but he warned us we’d have guests about an hour ago so we fired up the stove again.”

  Wooden plates clattered on the table moments before the hot contents of the pans and pots were poured deftly onto them by the couple. “But . . . I thought . . . I thought he wanted to talk to me.”

  “Of course, you wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to see you.” Flede shook her head. “But he likes to do things in his own time and at the strangest hour. One week he doesn’t eat for days, then he’ll want breakfast at sunset or lunch in the morning. If he wants to hear your story, he’ll do so when he wants. So don’t be surprised if he wakes you up in the middle of the night and acts like it’s the middle of the day.”

  Eurik at down dejected, but he tried to draw some comfort from Flede’s words. “I suppose living that long must change the way you experience the passage of time.”

  “Don’t worry, he never forgets, even if he does sometimes forget to remember. Enough of that, eat, eat, before it gets cold.” And the old woman did insist on watching and only smiled again once they’d both cleaned their plates.

  ***

  With the bed looking so very soft, Eurik slept on the floor. Nobody disturbed his slumber, to his disappointment, and he debated how long he would be prepared to wait as he got dressed. Quite a while on his own, but Silver Fang couldn’t. She had her own affairs to look after, but having her go off on her own didn’t sit right with him.

  It wasn’t concern; it was far more selfish. She was the only person he really knew on the mainland. The only one he could call friend. But that didn’t give him a claim on her. So how long would her curiosity keep her here?’

  He had just passed Silver Fang’s door when it opened. “Rock,” she said in greeting.

  “You’re not wearing your armor or your sword. I don’t think I have seen you without before.” He noted she still had her dagger in its customary place, however.

  She shrugged. “If the Immortal means me harm, neither will save me. And nothing can reach this place without his permission. The only place safer is back home. And . . . it is nice to be able to walk around for once without it.”

  As they made their way to the kitchen, it struck Eurik once again how full this place was. In some ways it felt like the library back home, it was so filled with history. But instead of only books, there were myriad objects permeating the air with the past. But only in some ways. Even now he could feel the forest beyond, a turbulent sea with the clearing an isle of tranquility.

  Only Flede manned the kitchen, but she had breakfast in front of them before they’d even had a chance to take a proper seat. Eurik had nearly finished off his porridge when the Immortal breezed into the room. “Ah, there you are, good, you haven’t left yet.”

  “Left? I . . . we only arrived yesterday.”

  The Immortal’s lips curled in a smile. “I meant left the kitchen. Go on, finish your breakfast, you can find me in the library.” He ducked out of the room, only to stick his head into the kitchen again a moment later. “The second library. Flede can tell you where that is.”

  Suddenly no longer hungry and armed with Flede’s directions, Eurik hastened to the library. But when he took a seat opposite the man, he didn’t know where to start. Misthell didn’t have that problem. “You said I was made here, but I don’t remember this place. I sort of have a problem with my memory. A lot of it seems to be hidden away.”

  “That’s easy. You don’t remember being here because you weren’t awake yet. That’s the final step and One Claw and Ardent intended to do that when they reached home. As for memory problems, did they die near Misthell?” he asked Eurik.

  “Ah, yes, as far as I know they did, ah, Immortal, sir.”

  “Don’t call me that. Name’s Kodij.”

  “Kodij?” Silver Fang echoed from where she stood leaning against the door post. Eurik hadn’t even noticed she’d followed him. “That is your real name?”

  “Of course not. What a silly thing, no, I’m trying out names at the moment to replace the old one. It got boring.” Kodij pressed his thumbs together. “So they died in Misthell’s presence, yes, that would do it. You see, breathing life into a living sword is sort of like kindling a fire. The smith uses some of his, or hers, life force to wake up the blade. But you didn’t get a breath, you got the entire thing washed over you. You got drowned in their lives, their memories.”

  Misthell’s single lid lowered over his eye. “I don’t remember being a human.”

  “Of course not. Your mind, your form, they are incompatible. I wouldn’t be surprised if something remained, though, especially given what One Claw intended with you.”

  Eurik leaned forward. “What did he intend?” He supposed he should call him Father, but that was such a strange word.

  “He didn’t intend to die,” Kodij said with a shake of his head. “I know they wanted to go south and avoid Ardent’s people. But how did they, and you, wind up on San, of all places?”

  Silver Fang jumped on that last question and riposted with her own. “How did you know he lived on San?”

  “Hmm? Oh, easy. I remember their Ways from when they still lived in the valley. The way Eurik here tried to connect with the chiri of this place, there was no mistaking it. But back to more important matters,” he said, turning his gaze back to Eurik. “How did you end up on their island?”

  Eurik bit back his own questions and told the Immortal what he wanted to know. What he had been told by Zasashi and the other san coupled with what little he had discovered on his journey so far. This, in turn, led to Rik and the Bone Lord he had worked for, how they had hounded him to get their hands on Misthell. Before he knew it, he had told the Immortal everything from his departure from San to arriving here in Vanha Forest, leaving him feeling drained and thirsty.

  “And that is why I am here. You’ve already told me they did learn from you. Can you tell me anything about them? Why did they take such a roundabout route back to Mochedan lands?”

  “Hmm, I could . . . But why would I?”

  Eurik reared back as if struck. “Why . . . would you?”

  “Yes. Think about it. If I gave you the answers you seek, what would you do?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  The Immortal laughed. “You don’t know? I do. You’d go back to your island and spend the rest of your life in quiet contemplation.” He shook his head. “How utterly boring.”

  “It’s a good life.”

  “Oh, it has its charms. But as a story it doesn’t entertain me. No, I’d rather see what happens when you land in the Nations. Things are stirring there and I think you’ll add something to the pot.”

  “Entertain you?” Anger filled his body and mind as if it were chiri, spurring him on. “My life isn’t a story. People have died. I have killed them. They are not characters in a play.”

  “And what do you think those heroes and villains from Misthell’s stories were? I have known many of them before they were legends—some I called friend—yet to you they are nothing more than entertainment. So why should I treat you any different?” The Immortal leaned forward slightly.

  “Because I’m a person. Because you are talking about . . . about . . . I don’t know what you mean with pots and stirring, but I do not like the sound of it!” Eurik did not know, but he had his suspicions. The Immortal foresaw more situations like with Chizuho, Rik, Lord Merin, those elves: more death. He rose from his seat.

  “I liked your parents, but that wasn’t the reason I taught them,” the Immortal said,
though Eurik failed to see the connection to his own accusation. “I did that for the same reason I am now withholding my knowledge from you. Because people are everywhere, people are not unique. I have met a thousand persons like you, like them, and I will encounter a thousand more. People on their own are boring, it’s when they interact that it gets entertaining. That is why I will not help you. I want to see you interact.” He leaned back in his chair.

  Eurik turned away. “What you can see is me leaving.”

  Chapter 12

  The Way Forward

  Cursing him, Leraine hastened down the path after Rock. Her armor hit her back and stomach with every step; she hadn’t had the time to properly fasten it as her friend hadn’t waited on her before storming out of the Immortal’s home.

  The Immortal . . . she had heard stories of his wisdom, his capriciousness, but none did justice to how that man truly saw the world. How he saw mere mortals like them. Leraine shook her head in disgust. Rounding another tree, she found herself out of Vanha Forest.

  Rock stood only a few feet away, looking around, and she knew why with a single glance. This land was not the one they’d trekked through on their way to Vanha Forest, yet they had taken the same path out as they had used to enter the forest. On her left, the Mountain Wall towered above everything, which meant they’d gone east when the path should have taken them north. At the moment, though, she had no desire to ponder the strangeness of Vanha Forest.

  “Rock!” He twitched, but did not look at her while she walked up to him. “I am sorry that you didn’t get the answers you were searching for.”

  “What were they thinking, learning from a man like that?”

  “I do not know. I am not even certain we met the same man your parents did. There are so many stories, good and bad, yet I had never considered if they could all be true.”

  Rock grunted, his gaze turned to the north—no, the northwest. “There’s only one place left to go for my answers, but now I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to be responsible for any more death.”

  Leraine clicked with her tongue and swatted the back of his head, like Irelith had done to her when she had been young and too absorbed with her own petty problems to see the bigger picture.