Karinael looked away and tossed the stem of yellow flowers she had plucked. “Sorry I’m such a burden.”
“If you want to do me a favor, get with the program and sync with your armor already.”
“I’m trying. It’s not easy.” said Karinael.
“I know!” barked Nuriel. “Nothing’s easy as a Saints Caliber! Get with it already!”
Karinael rolled her eyes. “You don’t look like you can take another step anyway.” she mumbled.
Nuriel turned and looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Let’s go.” She stood up.
Karinael stood up and wobbled on her feet, catching herself on the boulder. “Whoa!”
Nuriel rolled her eyes. “Move it.” she said. “Shine your Caliber, as bright as you can.”
Karinael took a deep breath and focused on her Caliber. A faint yellow glow, hardly visible against the light of day, encompassed her.
Nuriel huffed and puffed, biting her lip and shaking her head angrily. “Is that it? Is that all you got?”
Karinael closed her eyes. She focused. Her Caliber’s shine increased slightly. “It… It hurts.”
“I know!” shot Nuriel. “But I need you to keep that up. All day. It’s the only way you’re going to sync with your armor.”
“I… I don’t know if I can…”
“You have to!” yelled Nuriel. She got in Karinael’s face. “You have to! Do you want to be consumed by your armor?! Do you want to die like that, not even in battle?! You have to keep it up, even if it hurts! I don’t know how much longer I can…”
Karinael looked at Nuriel. “How much longer you can what?”
Nuriel scowled and looked away. “Deal with your whining. Toughen up. Now come on, let’s go.” Nuriel began walking off.
Karinael breathed deep. Shining her Caliber this much was painful. She had been shining it as much as she could ever since she donned the armor. It was like holding a small weight in an outstretched arm. At first it was easy, but as time wore on it became more and more painful. Right now, her entire body burned and she wanted nothing more than to let it all go. But she knew Nuriel was right. She had to keep it up. The armor would kill her if she didn’t. It already almost had.
Karinael thought back to the Ceremony. After the Oracles had marked her neck with her stellaglyph and taken her blood for the Sanguinastrum, they began chanting something in the ancient tongue. They placed a shroud over her. She clenched her eyes closed as they cut the steel breastplate from her body. She could feel the Sin Eaters frantically pulling at it, and then she felt the strange sensation of her naked chest and back.
Then the frigid cold of the star-metal hit her.
She felt it wash over her body, consuming her in its arctic embrace. It hadn’t been slipped over her head, but rather somehow slipped through her body. Once it was around her, a sensation other than coldness grabbed her. It was a pulling sensation. She could feel her body beginning to crawl into the metal. She remembered her heart racing. She shined her Caliber with all her might, but still that terrible tugging sensation consumed her. She felt her skin tearing. She felt her bones moving. She had yelped. And then, just like that, the pulling sensation eased. It hadn’t faded completely, but it had eased enough that she was no longer panicking. Over the last two days, that sensation of being pulled into the armor had faded, and although almost non-existent now, Karinael could still detect it.
Karinael closed her eyes and rubbed the stellaglyph scarred upon the back of her neck. “Almost there.” she told herself. “Don’t stop now.” She focused on her Caliber. If she could just keep this up, by the end of the day—tomorrow at the latest—she’d be fully synced with her armor and she would no longer have to worry about it consuming her. Maybe then Nuriel would lighten up.
Part of her wondered, though. Nuriel was not the same Nuriel she had known. She wondered if her friend might one day open up to her about the things she had seen, the things she had done. Last night she had seen Nuriel taking more of that drug she called Evanescence. She wondered what had transformed the timid but caring Nuriel she had known into this colder, angrier Nuriel. She wondered if she’d ever get the old Nuriel back.
She looked ahead and made a clumsy jog to catch up with her friend.
She wondered if she too might be changed one day.
— 27 —
STOKING FIRES
Clink…clink…clink…clink…clink…clink…clink…
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Ease up there, Rook.” said Callad Venzi. He stood up from polishing the sword he was working on and wiped his hands down his greasy, leather apron.
Rook brought the hammer down one more time, as hard as he could. Yellow sparks exploded from the glowing steel set upon his anvil, and bounced off his leather apron. He gripped the hot steel in a pair of rusty tongs and thrust it into the furnace by his side. With his free arm he pumped hard at the bellows and the coals roared to angry life. Even through the thick, leather gloves he wore Rook could feel the intense heat threatening to sear through to his flesh.
“Easy there, son.” said Callad, placing one of his giant, calloused, all-consuming paws upon Rook’s shoulder. “That steel isn’t going anywhere. Time and patience help forge good swords, not just strength.”
Rook tore the tongs from the furnace and twisted around, placing the glowing steel back on the anvil. Clink…clink…clink…
Callad grabbed the hammer from Rook’s hand in mid-stroke.
Rook looked up at the giant, bearded man. Callad smiled down at him. “Easy, son.”
Rook used his free hand and wiped at his brow, smearing black coal dust and grease across his already grubby features. “But I need to get strong.”
Callad set the hammer down and took the tongs and glowing steel from Rook and set them aside. He knelt down and put his hands on Rook’s shoulders. “I know you want to find your sister, Rook. Strength will only get you so far in this world. Even skill can only take a man so far. The success of a journey depends on what you take with you.” Callad’s warm, brown eyes gazed into Rook’s. He tapped Rook on the chest with a meaty finger. “What’s in there is taken everywhere you go. Be mindful of what you pack.”
“But I hate them.” said Rook. “I hate them all.”
Callad nodded softly. “I know, son. I know. And that is why you’re not ready.”
Rook frowned. “I’ll never forgive them. I’ll never forgive any of the Saints.”
“You don’t need to forgive them, son.” said Callad. “They’ve done bad things. Nobody is entitled to forgiveness. But you can’t let it consume you, either. If you do, then you become the very thing you are fighting against.”
Rook frowned.
Callad placed his hands on Rook’s arms and squeezed softly. “You’re already stronger than you were a month ago when we took you home. You’ll be stronger still in another month. When you’re grown, you’ll be as strapping as me.” Callad smiled and pounded his chest.
That got a tiny smile and laugh out of Rook.
Callad stood up and grabbed the tongs that held the quickly cooling steel. He set it on the anvil for Rook. “You have a gift with the fire and steel.” he said, handing Rook back the hammer. “I’ve no doubt you’ll make a name for yourself. But mom’s got a gift with the fire and beef, and if we’re not at the dinner table ready to compliment her cooking, we’ll both have an earful to deal with.” Callad took off his leather apron and tossed it over a nearby bench.
Rook looked up at Callad. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Callad looked at him and nodded. “Me and Sierla, we love you, Rook. We might not be your parents by birthright, but we’re your parents here.” He tapped his barrel-chest.
“And you’re mine here too.” said Rook, patting his chest. “And that’s what we take with us on all our journeys.”
Callad smiled. “I’ll see you at the table.” He rubbed Rook’s shoulder and then walked across the workshop and disappeared out the door.
Rook grabbed the ton
gs and thrust the steel into the furnace. He pumped the bellows and stared into the roaring flames, watching as the coals became angry with heat. They throbbed bright yellows and intense white. He felt the Golothic in his pocket burning with the same fire, and a terrible rage, more red than the steel he held, began to well up within him. He turned and placed the glowing steel on the anvil, and with all his might brought the hammer down, over and over again. “I hate them.” he growled. “I hate them all.”
Clink…clink…clink…clink…clink…clink…clink…
M. David White lives just outside of Chicago. He has been writing stories ever since he was a little boy when his mom would help him write the words down. He is an avid writer of fantasy and fiction and has published a number of projects over the years. He lives with his wonderful wife, three kids, and an indoor zoo which consists of four cats, a dog, a rabbit and a fox. When he’s not writing, he’s thinking about writing. When he’s not thinking about writing, he’s wondering which one of the animals is plotting against him. He also fancies himself an outdoor chef and enjoys grilling and BBQ, even if it’s raining. He fears the eventual rise of robot overlords and has a stash of tinfoil hats...just in case.
Table of Contents
Title-Page
Credits-Page
Dedication-Page
Map
Stellaglyphs
1-Rook
2-Skull-of-the-Fire-Dragon
3-The-Kald
4-The-Stellarium
5-Dissent
6-Solastron
7-Council-of-Duroton
8-A-Call-to-Duty
9-Etheil
10-The-Golothic
11-Rising-of-the-Phoenix
12-Schism
13-Nuriels-Battle
14-Isleys-Cause
15-The-Demon-Yig
16-Of-Falling-Stars
17-A-Visitation
18-The-Covenant-of-Bulifer
19-Behemoth-Kraken
20-Betrayed
21-The-Long-Hours
22-Breaking-Chains
23-Sanctuary
24-A-Change-of-Hands
25-Ursula
26-Karinael
27-Stoking-Fires
28-Author-Bio-Page
The Record of the Saints Caliber Page 70