The Bronze Blade

by Elizabeth Hunter

  Aday closed her eyes and pictured what she knew of Rashon’s tent. She had been in it many times, choosing a weapon from his chest before practice. She focused on one she had seen him polish, a new blade with a vicious curve that he’d picked up from traders in the west. It was new. It would be near the top of the chest. Wrapped in good leather, if she had to guess.

  She would claim the blade. It would be hers when she killed its master.

  Aday held her breath, but sent a curl of energy out, touching the air that permeated the soil. The air moved and shifted, pushing the soil down and lifting her up through the thick mass, obeying her command until she lay at the surface, naked and dusted in dirt, her body perfectly healed as she knew it would be.

  She heard Rashon rifling through the chest, his back to her. She rose, her feet light upon the ground as she felt the wind cushion her. It swallowed the noise of her steps. It hid her movements from her enemy until she’d picked up a dagger he had laying beside his pallet.

  Without a word, she went to him. He sensed her a second before she struck. He turned, mouth open, eyes gaping in horror at the monster she had become. The monster they had made.

  Aday struck swiftly.

  She drove the dagger through his throat so he could not scream. Drove it all the way through his neck until it pierced his spine. Then she yanked it back and forth, making sure Rashon’s backbone was severed. His body gave a jerk, but that lasted only a few seconds as she hacked off his head. Aday shoved it to the side and wiped away the blood that had spattered on her face. She kicked his body away from the chest and searched for the curved blade.

  She smiled when she found it. The sword gleamed in the low lamplight. Its handle was wrapped in fine leather, and the bronze blade was burnished to a sheen. It was hers. Hers alone. Rashon had traded for it, shown it to others, but he’d never spilled blood with it.

  “Saraal,” she whispered, giving her sword the dead girl’s name.

  She slipped out of the tent in the early evening light. The moon had not risen, and the black sky conspired with her to block out the stars. No one saw her when she moved to the next tent.

  The warrior was feeding from a human when he saw her. His fangs were down and his body hard. The girl had stopped struggling, but the bruises on her body showed Aday how she’d been used.

  He sat up, but Aday had already moved. Flipping in the air, over his head, to land on his back. The blade swept out, slicing easily through the thick cords of the Sida’s neck, cutting it cleanly before he could make a sound.

  It was a good sword.

  Aday sat with the body between her legs, staring into the dead eyes of the woman. Her lips were split open. Her eyes were black. She tipped back her chin, baring her throat to Aday.

  Enough.

  She brought the blade to the woman’s throat and gave her a quick death, then she moved to the next tent.

  She killed a younger Sida next, one of Temur’s newest children. Then an older one, who she’d seen eying Saraal with lust. He’d wanted her. And Aday knew it was only a matter of time before Temur would start passing the girl through the camp.

  By the time she’d killed five warriors, the bodies were beginning to be found. She could hear cries of surprise and anger. Somewhere in the distance, Temur yelled out for the girl.

  She’s gone, Aday thought as another warrior’s blood dripped cool down her breast. There is only me now.

  “Saraal!” he yelled. “Come here now!”

  Aday stepped out of the tent and saw torches coming toward her. She flew straight up, avoiding the fire, before sweeping down and grabbing a burning stick from one of the humans who guarded the warriors during the day. He gasped when he saw her and fell to his knees. She flew over the camp, touching the flame to the tents as she passed.

  Like a row of dead trees, the tents went up in flames, and she smiled when she heard the cries of the warriors inside as they met their end.

  A few had taken to the air to look for Saraal, but the girl couldn’t fly, so they were looking down. Aday could, so she snuck up behind them, the wind holding her aloft as she overpowered the flying Sida and took their heads.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  She laughed at how easy it was, in the end. They were finished. All but a few of Temur’s warriors were dead. A couple had fled into the trees with the humans. Most were burning in their tents. Aday took a deep breath and reveled in the smell of death around her.

  She was almost finished.

  She saw Temur heading toward her, so she dropped to the ground out of respect for the girl, who had cared for him in her own way. Aday watched the Sida as he landed across from her, his camp burning in the background, humans and animals still running for their lives as the air filled with smoke.

  “Why?” he yelled, bloody tears running down his face. “What have you done, Saraal?” His hair was singed and his clothes black.

  “You killed her.”

  Aday began to walk toward him. She could hear the girl somewhere, whimpering in protest.

  “What are you talking about? You killed my sons! Their sons. When I would not let them touch you.” He screamed into the night, “They feared your madness and I trusted you!”

  Aday shook her head. “You shouldn’t have.”

  Temur’s face melted in rage, and he flew toward her, his sword held out. Aday met him in the air, embracing him and kneeing him in the gut at the same time. She was stronger than Temur. The girl didn’t know it, but she did. She’d known for some time. He folded over in the air, and when she put the knife to his neck, she felt surrender wash through him.

  His children were dead.

  His camp in flames.

  “I trusted you,” he said quietly, the wind muffling his words.

  “No, you didn’t,” Aday said, pressing her cheek to his as she held the knife to the back of his neck. “Not really, Temur. You killed her last night. You didn’t even know.”

  “Finish it, tseetsa,” he murmured, dropping his sword as she flew them higher and higher. He put his arms around her, and held on. “Fly me to the stars and finish it.”

  Aday heard the girl screaming as she pressed the blade to Temur’s neck and cut. She would give the girl that. Temur would die quickly. His eyes closed as the curved blade caught his neck. With one pull, his head was gone. She held his body, dripping blood onto her chest as she flew to the clearing where he had forced the girl to give up her blood. She landed there and set Temur’s body down, stretching across it as his blood flowed into the earth where the girl was buried.

  She lay there, wrapping his arms around her back to see if she could feel what the girl had felt for him, but there was nothing. No energy. No comfort. She wondered if there ever had been, or if the girl’s feelings were an illusion.

  The moon rose over Aday as she held Temur’s corpse and the stars watched. Then she felt herself leave her body again, absorbing the black night. She surrendered to the space inside, letting the darkness fill her. Claim her.

  And when the sun rose, Aday smelled Temur burning over her from her hollow in the earth.

  Epilogue: The Heir

  She left the plains and flew far, taking shelter in the mountains. She felt the sun rise and set from beneath the earth. Seasons passed; her hair grew long again. And when the frost came, she left the cave where she had sheltered and drifted among the humans, feeding on more than the birds and small creatures that populated the dark. The bronze blade never left her side.

  She found clothes. She learned languages. She flew. She hid. Few noticed her, and those who did avoided the small woman who wore men’s clothes and wandered the trade routes at night.

  She wandered over the plains again, tracking Suk and his sons. When she found them, she killed them in their tents, then she set fire to the last of those who held the girl’s memory.

  She became no one. Nameless. Though she passed others of her kind on the trade routes, she did not speak to them. She only
engaged them if she needed to defend herself.

  She existed.

  Then one night, she realized she felt something. Not in her body, in her mind. It was a feeling that had crept up on her, as much a result of her years on the earth as the length of road she had traveled.

  She was tired.

  She found another cave, higher in the mountains where the winter was long. Bright flags rippled from the trees, like colorful birds. She found a cave where humans had been. A small statue sat at the back in a niche, hidden from the light. She crawled next to it and lay down, stripping off her clothes to cushion her flesh from the rocks, rubbing snow over her body to clean it.

  She lay down with the bronze blade under her head, and for many seasons, she did not rise.

  Humans came to her, first frightened, then curious, then reverent. She was high in the mountains, but the tribe who tended the small statue came regularly. She didn’t move, but they fed her, reaching out to touch her gently. She caught them with her mind, so they held out their wrists, letting her drink as she needed. She never took too much.

  A tree took root near the mouth of the cave.

  She watched as the years passed. Her eyes rested on the tree. Each day, it grew a little more. Each night, she watched its progress. The humans came. They brought finely woven blankets and laid them over her, so she did not feel the bite of cold. They brought food for her to fill her stomach, though she did not eat. She existed on blood, and she survived.

  Years passed, the tree grew tall as a man. The humans brought polished stones and purple shells. Bits of carved bone and pottery.

  When the tree was as tall as the mouth of the cave, they brought brightly colored beads and rings made of a shining metal that did not tarnish. Her bronze blade grew dull beneath her head, but still, she did not move.

  To them, she was a god. Never aging. Never moving. Many years passed, and they whispered to her. Dreams and prayers. They asked for wisdom. For blessing. For answers to questions she did not know. She listened and thought about their lives, these humans who tended her. She listened, and when she was tired, she closed her eyes.

  One night, she woke and he was there, sitting at the edge of the cave, perusing the treasure the humans had brought. There were jewels and scrolls. Colorful blankets and food. Intricately painted pots. Pounded metal vessels and carved wooden screens. The humans had painted the walls of the cave with beautiful designs they hoped would please her.

  She sat up and spoke for the first time since the tree took root.

  “Are you here to kill me?”

  Her sire looked up from the scroll he had been studying. “Why would I do that?”

  “I killed your sons.”

  Jun shrugged. “Then they deserved to be killed.”

  “Did you make more?” she asked, her rusted voice dripping with scorn. “Shall I kill them, too?”

  Jun looked at her, then smiled. Then his smile grew wide; he threw his head back and laughed. The cave echoed with it. His beautiful face was suffused with glee.

  “You are my finest warrior,” he said when he stopped laughing. “Who would have thought?”

  She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “How did you find me?”

  “It took many years. You are a rumor in these mountains. A legend. The Sleeping Goddess. They tell stories of you on the roads. I followed the legends when I decided to look for you.”

  “Why did you decide to look for me? Do you want to fight me?”

  “No, my daughter.” He shook his head. “To tell the truth, I do not know which one of us would win.”

  Her eyes flashed with arrogance. “I would.”

  “You might.” But the glint in his eyes told her that Jun did not believe her.

  Despite her pride, she had to acknowledge he was probably the greater warrior. Power poured off him in waves. The air around him was suffused with it.

  “You asked me why I wanted to find you,” he said after some silence had passed.

  “Yes.”

  “I am tired of wandering. I am going to an island with others of our kind. Do you want to come with me? It will be a place of peace and reason.”

  “Why?”

  “I am tired of war,” he said. “Aren’t you?”

  “No, why do you invite me to come with you?”

  He stepped closer, but she did not shrink back. She never would. Never again.

  “You are my only child,” Jun said. “Clearly, the most worthy. And you are the only one who speaks the language of my birth.”

  She blinked. “Have so many years passed?”

  He smiled sadly. “Yes, they have.”

  She thought about his offer. Then she said, “You do not know me.”

  “And you do not know me.”

  “I have no desire for a master,” she said. “I will not answer to another again.”

  “I will always be your sire.”

  “I do not know what it means for you to be my sire,” she said. “Do you?”

  He stared at one of the paintings on the wall. “I thought I knew what it meant, but perhaps I didn’t. Perhaps you will teach me.”

  “No,” she said. “You will learn, or you will not. I do not think it is my place to teach you.”

  “I think…” He paused and turned to her. “I think I would like to sit with you and talk. Someday, I would like that.”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “But not today. Today, I will stay here. I am still weary. I will stay here until I am not.”

  Jun paused and watched her, then he rose and gave her a small bow.

  “If this is what you want, I will hold your treasure until you join me.”

  “Treasure?” She had grown to like beautiful things as the humans surrounded her with them.

  “You are my child, and a warrior of legend now.” His chin lifted with pride. “I am honored to give you half of everything I have gained, daughter. Until you come for it, I will hold it in your name.”

  “I have no name.”

  “Yes, you do,” he said, turning to leave. “Those who worship you call you Tenzin. They believe you show them the wisdom of their god, for to them, you exist in perfect harmony.”

  She thought back to the humans who cared for her. They offered their dreams and secrets to her. If she offered them anything, then she was grateful.

  “Tenzin?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Tenzin. It is your name if you want it.”

  Tenzin?

  She tried out the name in her mind, and the wind whispered that it was good.

  The girl looked at her father, who waited on the edge of the cave.

  “You may call me Tenzin if you like.”

  Penglai Island

  Present day

  Tenzin stretched out next to Nima, whose breathing was the only sound in the room. Her heartbeat was slow. Her breath shallow.

  “I told you, my Nima.” Tenzin stroked her silver hair. “It is not a happy story.”

  Nima said nothing. At some point, her eyes had closed. Her frail body had gone still. The mortal’s life was slipping away.

  “There will be no nightmares for you,” Tenzin whispered, placing a soft kiss on the old woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Not anymore.”

  Nima had shown her love. For years, even when Tenzin had been ungrateful. Even when she’d been angry or petulant. Nima asked for nothing and gave everything. Like the humans who had made her a god, Nima had been faithful.

  So Tenzin would do the same.

  She held the woman as she took her last breaths on the earth. She washed her body and sang the song she had sung to the father of her child—the song she had sung over her own mate’s body. Tenzin held Nima until her sire came and took the mortal’s body to be burned as Nima had wished.

  Nima’s body was put to flames by the Immortal Woman. It was a great honor for a valued member of her father’s household. Then her ashes were scattered in the gardens of Penglai, and her friend became everything and nothing on the earth.

  Aft
er eight days of mourning, Tenzin lay down in her room at her father’s house as servants and immortals hurried around her. Nima had occupied an important position in her father’s house. None of the humans were immune to her loss, but each one honored Nima in his or her own way. Mostly, by quietly continuing the tasks she had given them.

  But Tenzin was tired. And though she no longer slept—not even during the day—the immortal lay in her bed, reached under her pillow, and felt for it.

  It was there, as it always was. Aday’s blade was heavy and smooth to the touch. Shaped by time and battle, it lay like a lodestone in her hand.

  She clutched the bronze blade and closed her eyes.

  Tenzin held the old sword in her hand, and she rested.

  THE END

  ELIZABETH HUNTER is a contemporary fantasy, paranormal romance, and contemporary romance author. She is a graduate of the University of Houston Honors College and a former English teacher. She once substitute taught a kindergarten class but decided that middle school was far less frightening. Thankfully, people now pay her to write books and eighth graders everywhere rejoice.

  She currently lives in Central California with an eight-year-old ninja who claims to be her child. She enjoys music, writing, travel, and bowling (despite the fact that she’s not very good at it). Someday, she plans to learn how to scuba dive. And maybe hang glide… but that looks like a lot of running.

  She is the author of the Elemental Mysteries and Elemental World series, the Cambio Springs series, the Irin Chronicles, and other works of fiction.

  Website: ElizabethHunterWrites.com

  Elemental Mysteries fan site: ElementalMysteries.com.

  E-mail: elizabethhunterwrites@gmail.com.

  Twitter: @E__Hunter

  Find me on Facebook!

  THE ELEMENTAL MYSTERIES

  A Hidden Fire ~ This Same Earth

  The Force of Wind ~ A Fall of Water

  “Elemental Mysteries turned into one of the best paranormal series I’ve read this year. It’s sharp, elegant, clever, evenly paced without dragging its feet, and at the same time emotionally intense.” —NOCTURNAL BOOK REVIEW