The Glass Blade

by Ryan Wieser

  Kohl nodded, “Of course.”

  Jessop hadn’t thought of the family. She knew that Hunters had them, of course, but they were just an abstract idea to her, an afterthought. She thought of what Daro had said, of there being three sons within his house. She couldn’t guess how many people she had directly been responsible for the death of, let alone fathom how many family members’ lives she had ruined. She didn’t want to meet Daro’s family, not when she would have been willing to kill their son herself. She didn’t want to meet a mother who had lost a son; she didn’t want to know what that agony looked like.

  “Jessop, you’ll help Kohl with Daro’s family?”

  She nodded slowly, “Of course.” She had no choice but to do whatever was necessary to ensure Hanson didn’t change his mind about her becoming a Hunter. She did wonder, briefly, how he and the others could make such a decision without Hydo. Perhaps they thought he would never wake, and that they had to carry on without him.

  “Good, thank you. And sometime this week, after the service for Daro Mesa, we will be having a Council meeting. You’ll both be expected to attend,” he explained, flicking his gaze from her to Kohl. Kohl nudged her side, a knowing look in his eyes.

  “Of course,” they answered in unison.

  * * * *

  Kohl gently placed the parcel down on the dresser behind her, a pensive thought shadowing his eyes. “You know, if they are making such monumental decisions without Hydo, they must think he’s never going to return to us.”

  She turned her head up at him. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  He ran his fingers slowly down her arm. “You know what that means, then, don’t you?”

  She shrugged, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

  “It means they will be looking for the next Protector of the Blade of Light. They will be searching for an active replacement for Hydo.”

  She nodded, silent, thinking of their search. As far as all of Daharia was aware, there had only ever been one person who could have bested Hydo Jesuin—and he was the sworn enemy of the Blade.

  “If you could leave this place and live anywhere in Daharia, would you?” she asked, grabbing his hand as she abruptly changed the subject.

  “What?”

  “If you could live a different life, would you?”

  He chuckled softly. “No. Of course not, I’m a Hunter.”

  She held the back of his hand against her chest, pressing further. “But if you had to choose to live somewhere else where would you choose?”

  “I would want to live wherever you were,” he smiled, his voice soft and low.

  “But if you couldn’t—”

  “Jessop…”

  An image of a blonde woman with hazel eyes flashed in Jessop’s mind—a piece of his memory she had trespassed. “Please, Kohl. I know your whole life has been here, but do you truly remember nothing of your family, your home before you were brought to the Blade?”

  He sighed heavily, regarding her with frustration. “Not really. Somewhere in Gold Breen, I think. I suppose I would like to go find my parents maybe, if I had no place in the Blade.”

  She kissed the back of his hand. “Thank you.”

  “Any other weird questions?”

  She kept his hand pressed against her lips softly. “Just one…”

  He nodded, feigning exasperation.

  She smiled, brushing her cheek against the warm skin of his fingers. “Who took you from your parents all those years ago… Hydo or Hanson?”

  CHAPTER 17

  They waited, in silence, down on the docking bay. Jessop ran her fingers over her grazed knuckles, her green eyes studying the darkness, waiting for any sign of Hanson. He was escorting Daro’s family into the Blade, and he had told them to be waiting in the docking bay early. She and Kohl had been there for some forty minutes already.

  “Hanson’s never late,” Kohl repeated for the third time, turning on his heel in his black funerary robe. The robes were long and formal, similar to the one Teck lived in, except the ones for the funeral rites had the Hunter’s sigil emblazoned on the back.

  “Dealing with a grieving family can be a long process, Kohl,” she reminded him—for the third time.

  He stopped in front of her, taking her hand in his. “I should have gone to meet Daro’s family. He died on my mission.”

  “He died on the Blade’s mission, and Trax was the senior member of that team—you were all his responsibility.”

  He raised a dark brow at her, his blond hair falling into his eyes. “Are you suggesting this is somehow Trax’s responsibility then?”

  She pulled her hand free, crossing her arms over her chest. “Of course not. It’s mine.”

  A heavy sigh fell from him. They had already had this discussion. The issue was that when they spoke about it, they were actually talking about very different things.

  He ran his hand up her arm. “What Falco does has nothing to do with you.”

  She scoffed, nearly turning from him to conceal her eager rebuke. “We may both keep secrets, Kohl, but let’s not pretend that we live in a different world than this one. We both know that’s not true—what he does has everything to do with me.”

  He took her hand, holding it tight against his chest. “You’re not yourself today.”

  She closed the space between them with a step, resting her head against his broad chest. “I don’t like funerals,” she spoke, as if that could explain everything away.

  His breath was warm against her. “Yes, I imagine you’ve been to too many.”

  “I’ve been to none. I’m typically the killer, not the mourner,” she answered. Her candid words were hot between them, her eyes widening at her own disclosure. She pulled back, tilting her face up to him to measure the extent of her damage.

  But he immediately had his hands around her jaw, his lips on her forehead. “Never say that. You’re not a killer. You’ve done everything to simply survive.”

  She closed her eyes and saw Jeco. She didn’t do all of this for her own survival; perhaps before, much of it she had done for that very reason. But not since Jeco.

  “Survival isn’t an excuse for what I am,” she whispered.

  He kissed her cheek, soothing her without knowing the true cause of her pain. “What you are is amazing.”

  “It’s very likely that you won’t always think that,” she admitted.

  She pulled away slowly, stepping back, putting the distance between them that she never should have removed.

  He looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Why would you say that?”

  The whirring engine of a Soar-Craft pulled her attention away, and the bright lights of the vehicle stung her eyes as it came into the dock. Hanson lowered the Soar-Craft gently to the ground and cut the lights of the giant machine.

  Jessop watched as the grated ramp descended from the door, the metal contraption fixing a bridge between the Soar-Craft and the floor beneath. She took slow, shallow breaths. Would these people sense that their son was dead because of her? Would they know how he had hated her?

  The heavy metal door of the Soar-Craft lifted slowly, curving over the body of the vehicle until it tucked neatly away on top of the machine. Kohl stepped forward, standing beside the ramp, adopting a solemn expression that seemed to come quite easily to him. She had never attended a funeral, but it seemed as though he had attended one too many.

  The woman who appeared in the doorway was striking—and pained. Tears reddened her large dark eyes and her full lips twitched as they held back sobs. She fought for composure, clearly a woman of great pride. She walked down the ramp with her chin parallel to the floor, her eyes high, and her shoulders, pointed under her dark robes, tightly back. She had a mane of black hair, streaked with gray, that she wore in a severe bun. She seemed uncomfortable in every sense of the word.

&
nbsp; Her husband was a handsome man, and he too had the visible signs of suffering. His white hair was brushed back into a near perfect coiffure, barring the few strands that his fingers loosened when he cried into his worn hands. He, like his wife, wore all black.

  Jessop felt true pain for them. Whatever she had thought of Daro, his parents seemed to have more than loved him, and they appeared haunted by his loss. It made perfect sense to Jessop. She too had a history of such loss and sadness—she knew these people’s pain, simply from a different angle.

  Kohl bowed to them. The gesture was nothing grandiose or awkward, but mournful and respectful. She followed suit, lowering herself just slightly, dropping her eyes from those of the woman whose own held such a pain it scared Jessop.

  When he rose, she rose. Suddenly, standing beside Daro’s parents was Hanson. She caught his gaze briefly, before they both looked away. She watched Kohl study his mentor’s face, eyeing up the black bruise on the old Hunter’s cheek. Kohl looked confused, but knew better than to inquire.

  He took the father’s hand in his, shaking it warmly, regarding them both with soft eyes and speaking in a low voice. “Master Mesa, Madam, on behalf of the entire body of the Hunters of Infinity, I offer my deepest condolences for your loss. I had worked with your son for some time, he was a most impressive man, and a true brother.”

  The tone of his practiced words made it clear to Jessop that he had done this many times before. She wondered if Kohl, with his scarred face and forgiving eyes, was paraded out to each set of parents of the men who fell within the Blade. He was so young and boyish, the perfect proxy son whom parents could feel attached to during the service. Did his presence keep them comforted, or sedated, while they were at the Blade?

  As he took the mother’s hand in his, Jessop regretted the thoughts. Which wasn’t to say the theory was wrong. She didn’t like that she was the sort of person who would always assume the worst. She knew that wasn’t a quality one could change in one’s self. But even if it were, she didn’t know if she would… Her cynicism and realistic outlook hadn’t protected her from harm, but it had prepared her for it. She dealt with pain better than most because the hurt was never a surprise. She actually wished Kohl were more like her in that sense—so that the pain, without the surprise, wouldn’t smart quite as greatly.

  “Jessop?” The way he said her name made her realize it wasn’t for the first time—she had gotten lost in her thoughts. It was her time in the Blade; with every passing day she was struggling more and more with the decisions she had made.

  “Sorry?”

  “I was just saying you joined the Blade not too long ago, and that you too had fought beside Daro,” he explained, his voice tense, his eyes filled with agitation.

  “Indeed, yes.” She regarded the parents with solemnity, tilting her head with each word. “Your son was a gifted fighter with a keen acumen. A true master of blades,” she complimented.

  She spoke the truth. Daro had been a masterful wielder of knives, a capable fighter, and he had been astute, to a fault. Jessop had learnt that neither a magnificent mind nor an expert blade hand proved enough when faced against Falco Bane. Against him, everyone somehow seemed untrained, ill-educated, and unprepared. He had a way with pain that was truly singular. Yet, Daro had been spouting vitriol at her when he died, and here she stood, at the behest of his brethren, representing him to his family. Perhaps the brotherhood of Hunters had their own singular sick notion of pain too.

  “I do not understand. How do you fight here, girl?” Master Mesa asked, his voice thick with an Eastern tribe accent that Daro had not had.

  Hanson took a step forward, “Jessop’s story is a complicated one, but she does fight for the Blade, and is quite adept, at that.” She bowed her head with humility, knowing the words were probably the nicest he had ever spoken about her.

  “Good. In the Eastern Sands, we see no issue with women using the blade either. Good for you, young girl,” Madam Mesa spoke, her voice thick with accent.

  “Yes. We have always thought it odd that Azgul has halved its army by refusing the entry of their women folk,” Madam Mesa’s husband agreed. Jessop wondered if they knew their son had felt differently towards the matter. Perhaps she was wrong, perhaps Daro’s issue with her hadn’t been that she was female, but with simply who his brothers became when she was around them. She thought of her own irritation with Kohl and Trax on their mission. Daro hadn’t been wrong about the effect she had on them—but his hatred had blinded him when danger had been so near.

  “Well, Azgul has always had the Hunters,” Kohl reminded them, smiling softly with his gentle words.

  “And now the Hunters have the girl,” Madam Mesa answered back, her tone pleased. It was as though she were proud of Jessop. The sensation was one of warmth, welling in Jessop’s chest, different entirely from the fire of rage and retribution that permanently burnt inside her. This was a feeling of acknowledgment, and, unlike with her rage, she felt entirely unworthy of it.

  “Please, enough about me. Let us move to a more comfortable location,” she insisted, quickly stepping to the side and gesturing for Daro’s parents to pass her. Her words were a reminder of the occasion, and any lightness their brief conversation had brought them quickly disappeared.

  * * * *

  They sat in silence. A silver tea tray rested on the small glass table between them, untouched. Kohl had led them to a small room high up in the Blade. It was quiet and quite peaceful, but the air had an uncomfortable thickness to it, perhaps due to the knowledge that this was a waiting room for mourners. The seats were a dark gray, and plush in material. The floor was covered in soft rugs, woven by desert tribes, and the walls were covered with heavy curtains. One wall was still made entirely of glass, and the red sky shone softly through paper blinds fixed over it. There were small potted plants in the corner of the room, which were so distinctly out of place that Jessop couldn’t help but stare. She had never seen any sign of foliage, no greenery from the outside world, inside the Blade.

  Jessop was coming to understand the structured process for those who arrived at the Blade to grieve their kin. Young fighters who would act as their guides greeted them, then they would be taken to a room that was entirely different from any other room in the Blade, for it was a room of comfort and solitude—not brutality and order. There, they would wait together.

  Jessop knew that the architecture of the Blade, built for transparency, was the complete antithesis of the Infinity Hunters’ modus operandi, for there was no true openness between the brotherhood and the outside world.

  “How long will we be here?” Madam Mesa spoke, running her hands over her robed knees, her eyes fixed on the silver tray.

  Kohl cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs. “Not much longer, Madam Mesa. Are you sure I can’t make you some tea?”

  The older woman shook her head, her eyes staying low. Her husband took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. Jessop watched the two as they held one another, the way the mother swayed slightly and the father’s legs tensed, his feet pushing hard into the floor beneath. It was as though they were bracing themselves for what was yet to come.

  Jessop watched the mother fighting back tears, her stubborn lip shaking wildly.

  She leaned away from them, and then cleared her throat. “When I was young, I watched my family perish in a fire.”

  She felt them all move, Kohl and the parents, turning in their seats at her admission.

  “It was intentionally lit by the enemy, this much I know, and I was left there to burn with them, but somehow, I was saved…”

  Kohl reached over and grabbed her hand, his eyes wide as he stared at her. She had always maintained that she had no recollection of her childhood, and for the most part, that was true. She didn’t remember many things, but the fire—that she remembered. The fire was, regrettably, unforgettable.


  “Jessop,” he spoke, pulling her hand towards him softly.

  “I know… I said I didn’t remember, but it’s simply too awful a tale to volunteer out to people,” she explained. Madam Mesa leant forward in her seat, her fingers interlocked with her husband’s as they waited for her to carry on.

  “I was left to burn, but I was saved… I was saved, Madam, by an Infinity Hunter.”

  She could feel Kohl’s surprise, his stare burning into her. She saw the sadness in the mother’s eyes, the sympathy in the father’s tight lips.

  “That is what Infinity Hunters are meant to do. They save people. Your son saved people. He was a hero, and if it weren’t for men like him, there wouldn’t be women like me,” she explained.

  A large tear clung to Madam Mesa’s smooth cheek, resisting gravity’s pull. She nodded, and then rocked forward, knocking the tea tray as she took Jessop’s spare hand into hers and held it tightly.

  “Thank you. Thank you, child.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Hanson sent word for them shortly after Jessop finished telling her story. A boy appeared wearing funerary robes. He offered a sheathed blade to Kohl and explained he would lead them to the North Tower for the service to begin. Whatever comfort Jessop had provided Madam Mesa and her husband was fading. They supported one another physically through each slow, shaking step down the glass corridor, moving like one in their black cloaks, a shadow of their former selves.

  Jessop walked slowly behind them, beside Kohl. “This is for you,” he whispered, handing her the blade. She took it from him, noting its dusty sheath and aged hilt. “It’s just for the service,” he added quietly, noting her look.

  “Jessop… what you said about the fire…” he began, but she shook her head, taking his hand in hers.

  “Not now, Kohl. Later.” She squeezed his hand tightly, knowing she owed him more of an explanation.

  Knowing she owed him much more than just an explanation.