Swords of the Six

by Scott Appleton

  He stroked back her hair and waited for her to continue. Outside, the rain pounded on the roof with a thousand hammers.

  Never had he seen as sober a look as she gave him now.

  “Ilfedo, I am not what you think. I am not … human.” Another tear formed in her eye.

  “You can’t … what do you … are you serious?”

  She nodded.

  A drop of water leaked through the roof and splattered on his shoulder. Ignoring it, he gazed into her eyes. “You are serious. But why tell me this now? It doesn’t matter to me what you are. I love you for your soul … you know that better than anyone. Besides”—he ran his finger down her arm—“you look human enough to me. Unless this is only an exterior shell and something else hides beneath.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” She fingered the back of his neck. “I am what I am: human in form, but not by blood.”

  He cleared his throat. “By blood?”

  “Yes.” She rose from his lap and stood back a few feet. “I look human because I was made this way, but my blood is that of another race.”

  “What race?” The question seemed so simple he expected a simple answer.

  But Dantress held out her hands and they glowed. He held his hand up to shield his eyes. When the light dimmed, he uncovered his eyes and looked up at her.

  “My hands can heal, my love,” she said. “That is how I saved your life the day we met. Special power has been given to my race, power to heal and also power to destroy.

  She glanced at the floor. “But with this blessing … there also came a curse.”

  Standing to his feet, Ilfedo frowned. “And what is this curse?”

  “I am so sorry, Ilfedo. I should have told you sooner. But I was afraid. Afraid you wouldn’t want me if you knew or wouldn’t let me bear a child if I told you.”

  He felt as though the distance between them was growing in proportion to her regret.

  “In order to bear a child …” She put her hand to her mouth and began to weep.

  Drawing her to himself, Ilfedo comforted her. When at last she quieted, he kissed her on the forehead. Her arms entwined around him.

  “Ilfedo, in order to bear this child, I must die. I must give my life in order to bring another into the world. … This is my curse.”

  Suddenly his legs felt weak, his mouth refused to speak, his body numbed. With her help, he sat back on the bed. This time it was her turn to comfort him.

  When he spoke, it was to search for a way out. He would not lose her. Not after the term of her pregnancy had been fulfilled, not in a decade, not until he was old and gray. She would live to see their grandchildren. She must!

  Yet his heart told him otherwise and despite his best efforts to find an alternative he came up empty.

  For a brief moment Ilfedo found himself hoping the pregnancy would end prematurely. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought. One life, an innocent one, in exchange for another … he was wrong to even think it.

  “I found myself thinking the same thing,” Dantress whispered in his ear, having read his thoughts as if he had spoken them aloud. “It seems so simple. Trip down the stairs and the baby would not survive … and you and I could have each other forever.

  “But then I realized, with shame, what right do I have to live if the cost of my life is the blood of an innocent? None!

  “I want this, my love. I want this life to grow inside of me and, when the time comes, I want you to let me go in order to devote yourself to raising our child.”

  Ilfedo sobbed, but he felt no shame. “I will not lose you!” He clutched her tight. “If you do die, then I too, will die. Perhaps not in body at first, but I have given my heart wholly to you and with you it will go.”

  “No, no you must not think that way.” She caressed his face, sat in his lap. “We still have each other for many months. That time is ours. No one else’s, it is ours.”

  Their kisses turned passionate, salty because of the tears. Ilfedo rose and extinguished the lamps.

  Seven months passed. As her due date drew near, Dantress watched Ilfedo’s vigor dissipate and his countenance sadden. It had hurt her to tell him of her impending death. It had hurt even more to pass over his question and avoid telling him that she was the daughter of a dragon. But it had been necessary. If Ilfedo was to know the whole of her heritage then it would be up to the great white dragon to tell him.

  She was losing strength; the life inside of her was feeding off hers. Often she found it necessary to take long naps during the day, and she climbed the stairs to the bedroom early each night, rising late each morning. Ilfedo stayed with her more often than not, leaving the house only when the lack of food obligated him to.

  One day, after wishing him a good hunt, she laboriously climbed the stairs and laid on the bed. The female Nuvitor watched her from its perch on the bedpost and cooed softly to ease her asleep. As she closed her eyes, Dantress asked where the male bird had gone.

  “He is with Master, Mistress,” Hasselpatch preened her wing feathers. Dantress heard the bird speak in her mind. Sleep, Mistress. Master will be back by evening.

  Thank you, Hasselpatch. I think I will….

  She laid back. In her dreams she stood with her father, the great white dragon. He stood in a forest, pink eyes looking out over a vast field shadowed by dark clouds. She saw men and dragons tangle with each other in fierce combat. The dead fell everywhere and a crimson dragon rampaged through the field, unopposed. His eyes were evil and she felt as though she were right next to him, a sword in her hand.

  With a start she awoke from sleep. Sweat had soaked her sheets. She looked at the bedpost from which the Nuvitor kept watch. But the post was empty.

  She tried to sit up, but exhaustion forced her back. She closed her eyes and shook her head, recalling the vivid dream. Opening them, she looked again at the bedpost—something was wrong with it. She forced herself to a sitting position. Was that …? Yes, a red stain on the wood. Blood!

  She felt the presence of five individuals in the room and knew before she saw them who they were and what they had come to do. The five forms emerged from the shadows around the bed. Caritha and Rose’el stood at the foot of her bed, their mouths set in firm lines. Emerging to her right, Levena and Evela looked down at her. Evela’s cheeks were streaked with tears, her hair unkempt. Laura glided from the left and stood in silence. In the sisters’ hands the swords of the Six glowed rusty orange.

  Drops of red blood fell from the tip of Caritha’s sword and a telltale white feather hung from it. “Caritha, how could you?” She felt ready to cry. “The bird was here to protect me.”

  “And to protect your child.” Caritha’s hand clenched her sword.

  The warm air chilled around her as the realization settled in. “You have come to save my life by taking that of my child?” Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. “My sisters, what has happened to you? I feel that I am losing you to darkness, and I do not know why. You have fallen far indeed if you would kill one innocent life to save mine.”

  Caritha’s eyes filled with tears. “This is not what we wanted, Dantress. It is you that chose this path. Once the child is dead— you will be free to live.”

  A nudge from within her womb drove Dantress to desperation, and she screamed at them at the top of her lungs, “No! The child is mine! I will not let you take it!” Raising her hand toward the ceiling she cried out, “Life you gave me and life I will give to another. Stop these murderers in their tracks and empower me to save my child!”

  The rafters opened to reveal clear skies above and a column of fire fell through the roof and entered her body. The sisters backed away, their eyes wide. “What kind of power is this?”

  Strength filled Dantress. She rose from the bed, the burden of her unborn child hindered her movements more than she would have liked, but she nevertheless threw out her hand. A wave of energy swept out from it, throwing Laura and Rose’el to the floor.

  Dantress stumbled, grabbed the bed
post for support. The drain of power required to knock down two of her sisters had been greater than she’d anticipated.

  At her feet lay Hasselpatch. The faithful bird’s silver beak was open, its eyes were closed. A trickle of blood ran from a hole in its chest, painting a line in its flawless plumage.

  Bending down, she picked up the fallen Nuvitor and set it on the bed. Just in time, she spotted Caritha with sword aimed at her womb. Dantress held up her hand, closed her eyes and placed her other hand on Hasselpatch’s chest. She didn’t have much strength left. This struggle was taking its toll on her body. With all the strength she could muster she sent a beam of energy from her hand, striking Caritha a blow to the chest.

  As the eldest sister stumbled back against the wall, Dantress searched Hasselpatch for signs of life. Just as she’d found in the fairy whose life she’d saved, she now found a kernel of the bird’s life force remaining. She fed that kernel until it grew.

  Hasselpatch stretched her wings and stood, moving across the bed to attack Evela and Levena. But she toppled on her side, breathing heavily, before coming even close.

  Leaning against the bedpost, Dantress watched Caritha beckon the other sisters to her side.

  “You dared to take the life of this innocent creature, and see? Power was given to me to restore it! My sisters, I beg you”— Dantress sat on the bed, doubling over with pain—“I beg you … do not do this. Do not become the evil we despise.”

  “Caritha, listen to her,” Evela wept. “What if she is right?”

  “Steady, little sister.” Caritha touched the tip of her blade to Rose’el’s. “The right thing to do is not always the easiest thing to do, but do it we must. We cannot let her die.”

  The five sisters touched their blades together. Blue energy sizzled along them, joining at the blade’s tips. The beam shot against Dantress with tremendous force, knocking her helpless and breathless on the bed.

  “No, no, my sisters. Do not do this thing,” she pleaded even as tears and darkness clouded her vision. She quaked, knowing what they were about to do. At the edge of her consciousness she felt them raise their swords to extinguish the life that she and Ilfedo had created. She wanted to rise, to break their necks with her own hands. But she was helpless and alone and in a moment she blacked out.

  Standing invisible in the crowded bedroom, Specter slipped into position beside Laura. As the sisters’ joined their swords once again, another beam of energy sizzled toward Dantress’s womb.

  With his hand, Specter intercepted the beam before it reached its target. The energy burned his flesh and yet the pain was nothing compared to the joy of knowing he had saved another innocent life.

  The sisters looked dumbfounded. All they could see was the beam of energy stopping mere inches above Dantress’s womb. The hand that intercepted it was invisible to their eyes.

  All of them, with the exception of Caritha, lowered their swords and backed against the walls. The eldest sister, tears streaming down her face, raised her sword and aimed the point at Dantress’s womb.

  Enraged, Specter stood to his full height and looked down upon her. His fingernails dug into the handle of his scythe as he swung it upward. Its blade clinked against Caritha’s, twisted it out of her hands and cast it to the far side of the room.

  Noticeably shaken, Caritha stepped back. Her eyes searched the room in vain, seeking her invisible assailant.

  Specter had not finished. Using the handle of his scythe like a club, he struck her on the shoulder. As she cried out and fell to her knees, he followed through with another blow to her back.

  “Mercy!” she gasped. “Whoever you are, please have mercy!”

  The other sisters attacked the air. Some of their strikes might have hit him, but he beat them down. Then, with all of them fallen to the floor and weeping, he spoke to them in a voice as low and deadly as a serpent’s.

  “If another finger is raised against the child, that finger’s owner will meet a sudden end. Do not test me, daughters of the dragon. I have slain more men than I can count and seen more wickedness than I care to enumerate. This day you have shamed your father’s name and from me he will hear of this.

  “You cry for mercy when what you need is a scourging. Go now … before I decide to be less forgiving and treat you accordingly!”

  Either they were too weary to test him, or they recognized the authority and justice behind his words. From his presence they fled, taking their weapons with them but, he thought, leaving their pride in the dust.

  When all was quiet, he smoothed Dantress’s hair and laid her in a more comfortable position on the bed. “Rest, Dantress. Your father is pleased with you.”

  Before leaving, he waved his healthy hand over the Nuvitor’s head. “I think it will be best if you do not remember what transpired here, my little friend.”

  He strode to the stairs, looking back once again. His chest felt ready to explode with contentment. The life of the unborn child was safe, he’d seen to that. Now the wait began. He marveled at a mother’s love. The skin of his hand still burned from the sisters’ attack. In fact it looked black. But he did not care. The child was safe and that was all that mattered.

  Ilfedo stepped through the doorway. The fire was blazing hot and Hasselpatch struggled to throw another small log into it. Seivar flew from Ilfedo’s shoulder, grasped the log and helped her throw it into the fireplace.

  Taking off his boots and setting them on the hearth, Ilfedo warmed his feet by the fire. “How’s she doing?” he asked Has-selpatch, patting her back.

  The bird hung its head. Its silver talon scraped the hearth stones with sad persistency. “She is not looking well, Master. I brought her extra blankets. It seemed chilly upstairs, but her body felt cool.”

  “It does seem a bit chilly in here.” He looked at the stairwell. “She’s in bed then?”

  Slowly the bird raised its silvery eyes to his. “Yes, Master.”

  He ascended the stairs, being careful not to disturb Dantress by rushing up the steps. The chill he felt was not wholly in the air, some of it was his own trepidation. The smell of burning oil smarted his nostrils. Portions of the roof remained open to the sky. Mid-day light flooded the room. He pulled on the cord hanging from the rafters. The portions of roof closed.

  Dantress’s skin was pallid, making her eyes seem like oases in a desert. Kneeling beside the bed, he took her hand and kissed it. “How are you feeling?”

  “Not well.” She swallowed and closed her eyes as if this simple action caused her pain. “I need water.”

  Fetching a mug of fresh, cool water, Ilfedo propped her up with rolled blankets. She drank with delicate sips. “Thank you, My Love,” she forced a smile. “I think … I think my time is almost here.”

  That evening he cooked a meal of rice with rabbit and served her at the bedside. By his invitation the Nuvitors ate with them as well. Later, when Dantress had fallen asleep, he washed the dishes. The meal he’d made had seemed tasteless to him. His heart was heavy, burdened by the knowledge that this happy part of his life was coming to an inescapable end.

  The fire died. He allowed it to.

  Sitting in the hammock, he fastened his gaze on the embers and rested his chin in his hands. He could hear the Nuvitors putting the dishes into the cupboards. After a little while, when the birds had finished organizing the kitchen, they snuggled with him in the hammock. He threw a log on the fire and stirred the embers until the fire once again burned. But the heat provided no comfort.

  Returning to the bedroom, he opened the roof. Starlight streamed inside. Dantress rested in a deep sleep. Her face bore a beauty born of heaven.

  Lying beside her, he gazed up through the opened roof at the stars shining like a multitude of unclaimed jewels set in a velvety curtain. Eternal they seemed. They glowed amidst the darkness, undying—timeless. Soon he would be like one of those stars; isolated in an ocean of black loneliness. He closed his eyes and slept through the night.

  He awoke the next
morning to a golden dawn. Dantress gave birth to a healthy baby girl. He forgot his sorrow and wrapped the child in a soft white sheet. Placing the child in its mother’s arms, he knelt at the bedside aglow with ecstasy. The child uttered her first cries. Her eyes were blue like most newborns with one exception: a hint of gold rimmed the pupils.

  His happiness was short lived. Dantress fought back tears, her face began losing color, and her eyes grayed. “We did it, my love,” she said. “We created a new life. … Her name will be Oganna.” Her words trailed off as she looked at the child in her arms. With great care she let the child down into the blankets by her side. Then with great effort she propped herself up on one arm.

  Wonder filled Ilfedo as he watched. Dantress held her hand over the infant’s forehead. A beam of blue and white light wove through the air from the mother into the child.

  “Goodbye, my love,” Dantress smiled at him.

  He pulled her to his breast, hugged her tight and put his lips to hers in a last kiss.

  As he released his hold, she collapsed against the pillows. Her body glowed so that, for a moment, he could not look anymore. When the light faded, he saw threads of it leaving her body, arcing into the child. The infant glowed as if filled with some kind of power, yet slept as if unaffected by the transfer.

  The flame in Dantress’s Eternal Band flickered and faded into blackness. He watched as his ring, too, became nothing more than an ordinary band of silver around his finger. The prophet’s words came to mind:

  “These rings will never leave your fingers for as long as you both live. They are known as Eternal Bands, the rings of binding love. Their flames will burn for as long as you both live. If the light of one of your lives is extinguished, in like manner the flames in the rings will also die.”

  Another tear rolled freely down his cheek and fell on her ring as he looked upon her still body.

  Yimshi’s rays drove the shadows out of the room. The infant awoke crying. Ilfedo stood and picked up his child. He kissed her forehead and smiled despite his sorrow. He glanced at the bed. The strength in his legs failed him. He knelt again, caressing the silken hair of his love. His shoulders quaked as tears spilled down his face.