Legend of the White Sword (Books 1 - 3)

by P. D. Kalnay

  “What’s your problem anyway?” I asked.

  “Currently, my problem is you boy.”

  “You have a crappy attitude, you know that?”

  So much for diplomacy.

  “Nothing about me is any of your concern. Including my attitude. If you think I haven’t felt your eyes on me, you’re mistaken. I can imagine the kinds of sick thoughts running through your brain, boy. I know too well what your kind get up to, given the chance.”

  That’s harsh. Yeah, I’d checked her out a little, but give me a break, my last three schools had been all-boys schools, and I was fourteen years old. I hadn’t been gawking, or leering, or anything. She was arrogant and delusional, and I was angry enough that I forgot she might be legitimately mentally ill. Although, you’d think my grandmother would’ve mentioned that.

  “People like you think the world revolves around them,” I said, tearing out a weed with excessive force.

  “And what people are you talking about?” Ivy asked, ripping out a weed of her own.

  We’d almost run out of weeds.

  “Pretty people,” I said. “Everything is easier for you, and you think because of your looks you’re entitled to a free ride.” I ripped out another weed. “Well I’ve got news for you. With your miserable personality, it doesn’t matter how good looking you are. Someday you’ll be old, and all that’ll be left is your inner crapulence.” Yeah, I said inner crapulence. It came to me. I tore out a few more weeds. Thankfully, we were almost done.

  “You think me pretty?” Ivy asked.

  She sounded genuinely unsure, but I’m not an idiot. Nobody that good looking doesn’t know it… except in TV shows. Ivy’s lame attempt at fishing for compliments was the final straw.

  “Give me a break,” I said. I stood and went back to the house to wash up for dinner. Ivy could have the last couple of weeds.

  ***

  Ivy and I avoided eye contact throughout dinner, and I had my usual evening of sword practice with Mr. Ryan. I felt exhausted by bedtime, but I couldn’t sleep. After a few hours of tossing and turning, I gave up on sleep and moved to the long bench under my window. The back yard was lit by a now full moon, and I peered out into the darkness to see if Ivy would appear again. Close to midnight, when I’d reached a tired enough state that I was sure I’d have no more difficulties falling asleep, I finally heard the patio door open and shut below me. Ivy walked outside in her white cotton nighty and strode with purpose across the lawn to the back edge of the yard. She bypassed the garden and stood at the edge of the forest that bounded Gran’s property on three sides. The forest ended at the property line, and although there was no fence, the years of trimming had made the edge of the dense trees and bushes wall-like.

  Ivy stood completely still, staring into the trees. I squinted, trying to determine what she was looking at. Suddenly, dark movement, and what I felt sure were eyes, caught my attention as something moved through the trees towards Ivy. She hadn’t stirred, apparently unaware of the animal I’d seen. It’s probably just a racoon or a skunk, I told myself as I tugged on my jeans and running shoes. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t either of those things. There are bears in the woods around Gran’s, and coyotes, and possibly wolves too. Ivy stood alone in the dark—maybe sleepwalking—and waiting to get eaten. Annoying or not, I couldn’t let that happen. I dashed down the main stairs. The lights in Gran’s house were out, but I knew the way. Only when I’d reached the edge of the garden did it occur to me that I might have woken Mr. Ryan, or scooped up a weapon. Even a flashlight would’ve been prudent. I didn’t call out to Ivy for fear of startling her, or the wild animal I’d seen. Getting sprayed by a skunk isn’t lethal, but I didn’t want to experience it.

  By the time I was right behind Ivy, I saw the eyes. I counted seven pairs of them. Given how scared I was, that might have been out by a couple. The eyes were at waist height, and they definitely didn’t belong to skunks or racoons. I saw vague shadows and glowing yellow eyes staring from the darkness and nothing more. Ivy didn’t look back at me until I spoke.

  “What are you doing out here?” I whispered.

  “You scared me,” she said. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

  “I shouldn’t be out here?” I didn’t look away from the eyes to see her expression. “You shouldn’t be out here. Move slowly behind me, and then we’re going back to the house. Don’t make any sudden movements or run.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ivy asked.

  “The eyes in the woods!” I pulled Ivy behind me. This wasn’t the time to humour her crazy.

  “They’re no danger to us,” Ivy said.

  I held her behind me and slowly pushed her back towards the house. She didn’t fight me.

  “There’s a whole pack of animals.” I said. I forced myself to keep my voice calm. Animals can sense fear. “I expect they’re deciding whether to eat us. Keep moving.”

  Silently, I was counting my steps and expecting to see the whatever-they-weres coming after us.

  “We’re safe as long as we don’t leave the yard,” Ivy said. “They can’t come onto the grass.”

  “What?”

  “They’re not welcome on the property,” Ivy said. “Unless you go into the forest you’re safe.”

  And the crazy was back.

  “I don’t know if those are wolves, coyotes, or wild dogs. I do know they won’t be respecting my grandmother’s property rights. We’re almost there.”

  We’d passed the garden with no sign of pursuit. A little further and we could turn and run if we had to. I didn’t want to do that unless there was no other choice. Humans are one of the least impressive animals, from a physical standpoint, and there aren’t many predators we can outrun. I glanced back. We’d reached the patio doors.

  “Ivy, open the door and get inside,” I said.

  I heard the door open behind me.

  “I’m inside, you can come in too,” Ivy said.

  I backed into the mudroom off of the patio and turned to Ivy. Her face was lit by the moonlight streaming through the French doors, and she looked up at me curiously. Once we were safely inside, I lost most of my cool and grabbed her by her little shoulders.

  “What were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself killed!” I may have spat on her.

  She studied my face closely.

  “Did you come out to rescue me?” she asked.

  Her intense, earnest expression knocked the anger out of me.

  “I saw something moving towards you through the trees. It didn’t look like you’d seen it so…”

  “You were worried, and you came to save me? That was very brave. Thank you.”

  Polite Ivy was freaking me out.

  “What were you thinking, standing out there in the middle of the night, in the first place?”

  “Sometimes, the most you can do is show your enemies that you’re not afraid,” Ivy said. “You have to look them in the eye and stand your ground. I’m sorry I frightened you.”

  “I’m more concerned that you don’t have the sense to be afraid for yourself. Promise me you won’t go out at night again.”

  “I can’t promise that. There are still things I must do at night in the garden. I promised the mistress of the house I’d take proper care of it.”

  Ivy looked deadly serious. You should be locked up, I thought.

  “Then promise you’ll come get me first. That way I can bring a flashlight and a weapon, OK?”

  “I promise, Jack,” Ivy said before heading to bed.

  I didn’t realise until later that she’d called me by my name.

  Chapter 10 – New Beginnings

  We didn’t become instant besties after that night, but the next morning when I passed her on the stairs, Ivy said, “Good morning, Jack” and gave me an honest-to-goodness smile. Every rude thing she’d said to that point was erased by her smile. I couldn’t help smiling afterwards. Mr. Ryan asked if I felt OK. If you’re thinking Jack’s a sucker for a cute girl—it�
�s probably true. I considered telling Mr. Ryan about Ivy and the animals in the forest, but I didn’t want to get her in trouble. Besides, she’d agreed not to go out alone again, and I figured that was good enough.

  There were no other opportunities to try blacksmithing again before Mr. Smith left. It was disappointing, and I considered how I might convince Gran to let me use the smithy on my own. Books and the internet wouldn’t replace a proper teacher like Mr. Smith, but lots of other people had taught themselves. I can tell you from experience, that if you pay attention, and follow the directions, you can learn almost anything from books. Of course, they have to be good books, written by people who know their stuff. I’d decided blacksmithing would be a new hobby. Everything (minus Gran’s permission) was already in place. I planned to start with simple tools, at least for a few weeks, before moving onto samurai swords.

  On the evening of the day Mr. Smith left, Mr. Ryan mixed things up. He took the lesson outside. To that point we’d trained exclusively in the gymnasium (not including our daily run) and getting out of the slightly stinky room, and into the fresh air, was wonderful. Mr. Ryan told me to meet him out back after dinner. He stood waiting beside two long black cases. They were hard plastic rifle cases, and I wondered if he would add shooting to our diverse repertoire. Mr. Ryan was already limbering up, and I realised that he’d lost weight since I’d first met him. His belly had shrunk, and there was a definition to his jaw that hadn’t existed before. The change had been so gradual that I hadn’t noticed.

  “Are we shooting?” I asked. I’d learned about guns and marksmanship at military school.

  “No,” Mr. Ryan said with a chuckle. “I don’t think your grandmother would go for us shooting in her backyard.” He kicked one of the plastic cases at his feet. “These aren’t guns.”

  “Those are rifle cases aren’t they?”

  “Yeah, I figured they’d do for our purposes, and they were available.”

  “What’s in them then?”

  “Something I commissioned Mr. Smith to make for us. Why don’t you have a look?”

  I squatted, flipped the latches on the nearest case, and opened it, excited to see what it might contain. Inside the case lay a broadsword. The sword had a leather wrapped handle (long enough for two hands), a simple acorn pommel, and a cross guard, made from an unadorned piece of bar stock. The straight blade was almost three feet long and tapered to a rounded point. It was also rectangular in cross-section, not tapered to the edges. That sword wouldn’t cut butter, let alone slay dragons. I picked it up. It was heavy.

  “Are these practice swords?” I asked.

  “More like weight training,” Mr. Ryan said. “From now on, you’ll be doing the sword forms with that. Next week, we’ll start sparring with the bamboo swords and the kendo armour. Assuming you’re still keen?”

  I found it hard to imagine doing a single kata with the heavy blade, but I smiled anyway. We were sparring next week! Visions of my highflying swashbuckling danced in front of me. Sweet!

  “Bring it on,” I said.

  “We’ll add other things to the cases as we go. It seemed silly to make scabbards for these sword-shaped clubs. Even so, I expect you to treat it as if it was a real sword, the same as the wooden ones. Bad habits lead to bad cuts and missing fingers. Let’s start the first kata.”

  The first of Mr. Ryan’s katas was the simplest and the only one he’d said I’d learned passably well. With the steel practice sword replacing the wooden one, it was like starting from scratch. Holding a blade ten times as heavy made the simple movements incredibly challenging. I was huffing and puffing after one try. It also felt like my shoulders would fall off. For the first time, I was tempted to tell Mr. Ryan that I couldn’t do it, that it was too tough for me. Letting the tip of my blade fall to the ground, I turned to tell him, but the words wouldn’t come out. Mr. Ryan had a practice sword that was significantly bigger and looked far heavier than mine. He danced across the other side of the lawn with the same grace he’d always shown using the lighter wooden katana. Seeing that, I felt ashamed of my weakness and once again determined to someday match Mr. Ryan’s skill. I started the simple kata again. By the end of the evening, I couldn’t lift my arms. Mr. Ryan put my practice sword back in its case and carried both cases towards the house.

  “Take a hot bath,” he said. “Soak and then stretch. It’ll take time for your muscles to acclimatise to the weight of the sword, and years to become fast and controlled with it.”

  Every muscle from shoulder to fingertip twitched. I felt near to tears.

  “It sure is heavy,” I said.

  Mr. Ryan gave me an understanding look.

  “It is, but imagine that somebody was trying to hit you too.”

  That was more than my imagination had energy for. I sat in the grass for a few minutes after Mr. Ryan had gone, working myself up to climbing Gran’s stairs. Even changing out of my clothes seemed like a herculean task. The last light of dusk was rapidly disappearing, and I rolled onto all fours, pushing myself up slowly like a ninety year old man. Not a fit ninety-year-old either. I felt very slightly better once I’d found my feet.

  We’d finished our practice near to one side of Gran’s vast yard. As I turned to head for the house, I heard a loud snap from the forest behind me. The edge of the property was only a few dozen steps away. An image of the glowing eyes in the darkness flashed through brain, and my first instinct was to run for the house. But it wasn’t actually dark out yet, and that felt cowardly—sensible, but cowardly. Instead, I steeled my courage and walked towards the forest’s edge. I did only go halfway. In between me and where the sound had come from, stretched an ornamental rock garden. Gran’s house had many other gardens besides the one Ivy and I tended. I stood at the edge of that garden and peered at the forest. I couldn’t see anything.

  I was about to leave when another twig snapped loudly, not far to my front. For a second time, I considered running for the house. Instead, I picked up a golf ball sized rock from the garden. When the next snap came, I threw the rock in the direction from which I thought the sound had come. The heavy stone disappeared into the forest, and I was rewarded with a surprised yelp. I don’t know who was more surprised, me or whatever I’d hit. A low, angry growl followed. That was it for me. I turned and ran for the back door. All of my pain and tiredness vanished for the time it took me to sprint the hundred yards to the house. Once inside, I needed the wall’s help to keep my feet. Catching my breath seemed impossible, and it was some time before my heart slowed its terrified pace.

  Running scared was no smarter a plan that night than it had been when I’d gone out for Ivy. But I’d been less prepared, and less focused, without having her to worry about. Nothing followed me from the forest, and I went upstairs to run a hot bath. I fell asleep in the tub, waking three hours later, shivering in icy water. Dragging myself out, I stumbled to my room and fell face first onto my bed—already asleep again before I landed.

  ***

  The next day I was sore all over. Mr. Ryan took pity on me and made our morning workout lighter than usual. He assured me that the best remedy for sore muscles was more exercise. I was sceptical, but it turned out that in this (along with everything else) Mr. Ryan was correct. Pushing through the morning was tough, and I didn’t know if I had any afternoon garden-labour left in me. I met Gran in the hallway before lunch, and she informed me that computer lessons would resume for a few days. Had it been the sort of thing we did in my family… I’d have hugged her.

  Ivy came up to my room after lunch. She looked from me to the laptop and back.

  “What do you want to learn next?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ivy said. “What do you use this computer for most often?”

  I considered that. Mostly, I used it to stream TV, play online games, and surf the net. I did some other stuff sometimes, but I wasn’t going to tell Ivy about any of it.

  “You can watch movies and TV on Netflix,” I said.

  �
��Please show me.”

  She actually said please. I almost passed out from the shock.

  “What TV shows and movies do you like?”

  “I don’t know what they are,” Ivy said.

  Crazy or messing with me? I wondered. Or from a commune maybe. I recalled the no computers or electricity. Not having seen TV and movies was a distinct possibility. For the first time, I felt truly sorry for Ivy. No TV!

  “It’s entertainment. Like plays at the theatre—stories acted out.”

  “Ah,” Ivy said. She smiled shyly. “Are there any love stories?”

  That figures, I thought. Here come the chick flicks.

  “A lot of them are, I guess,” I said. “I don’t watch many of those.”

  “What kind do you enjoy?”

  “Adventure, fantasy, and anime. I watch a lot of documentaries too, to learn things.”

  “Why don’t you choose one of your favourites? I’ll start with that.” Ivy said.

  “OK.” I flipped through the movies. “This is a classic. It’s silly, but funny too.”

  I clicked on The Princess Bride, and Ivy watched the movie, silently mesmerised, for the next hour and a half. The computer lessons looked to be taking a turn for the better. She laughed when the movie ended.

  “That was a love story,” she said. “It’s your favourite?”

  “One of them,” I said. “I think it would technically be a comedy or an adventure with a romantic element. Girl movies are mushier than that. We have time for another movie before dinner.”

  “Choose another then, please.” Ivy was already turned back to the laptop’s screen.

  In my experience, all girls like Frozen. I had to stop the film a minute in, to explain animation. I demonstrated the concept with a cartoon explosion I’d drawn in the margin of one of my old textbooks. The gaps in Ivy’s knowledge were unbelievable, but she accepted my explanation that the film was basically a far more advanced version of my crude attempt at animation. I hit Play again. Another deer-in-the-headlights session followed as Ivy watched the show. By the time it finished, it was dinnertime.