Sword from the Sky

by R. Janvier del Valle

TWELVE YEARS LATER

  “AH!” the woman screamed as she threw the blankets up to the ceiling.

  Simultaneously, twelve-year old Luca shared in her fright. “AH!” he also screamed, losing his balance and falling on the floor, for Luca had only one good leg, his right one to be exact. His left leg had been crushed right after he came out his mother’s womb and had been amputated just below the knee.

  “Oh my heavens, poor child!” Sertu said, running towards him. Sertu towered over the average man, but she was as nurturing as a mother bear is to her cubs. She grabbed his hand and picked him up off the floor. “Why are you still here, Master Luca? You’re going to be late for the parade!”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Sertu,” Luca said, wiping away the dark strands of hair from his eyes. “I was looking outside and I noticed that my roosters were gone. They were supposed to wake me up, but now they’re gone.”

  “Oh dear, quite right,” Sertu said with a guilty look on her face.

  “Do you know what happened to them?”

  “Um,” Sertu stuttered as she stalled for some answers. “Well, it’s an important day, you know, and I think...I mean I might...it’s quite possible that they’ve found their way into—”

  “Into what?” Luca said.

  “Well, into a pot—they might have made their way into a stew, that is...for a party. I mean, for your party, a feast—a celebration, that is. Today is a great day! Yes, today is a great day, and you’re late for it, Master Luca. We need to get you ready. Come on.” Sertu picked up the blankets and went through his wardrobe for his things.

  “Into a pot?” Luca said. “Oh, that’s terrible, no? I mean, poor birds.”

  “Master Luca,” Sertu said as she threw a shirt at him, which landed on his head. “Please focus.”

  Luca tried desperately to put on his shirt while hopping on his one good leg. Sertu kept throwing various garments at him.

  “What is it exactly that you’re supposed to wear to these things?” Sertu said while holding two types of pants in each hand.

  As he hopped around the room with a number of garments covering his head, Luca blindly pointed to one of the pair of pants in her oversized grip.

  “All right then,” Sertu said, placing the pants on the bed and turning around to reach for his sandals. It wasn’t long before she heard a big thud and noticed that Luca had tripped over his bed as he hopped around the room.

  “Oh, dear, not again,” she said. She walked over to Luca, helping him onto his bed. She took all the clothes that she had unwillingly toppled on his head and threw them on the floor.

  “I think it might be better if I did this by myself, Miss Sertu.”

  Sertu folded her hands below her waist, and with a sad look apologized to Luca. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m nervous, that’s all. I just want you to do well.”

  “I know, Miss Sertu,” Luca said, understanding her sentiments. “It’ll be all right, I promise—on my wooden leg, I promise.”

  “Oh, well, that’s sweet,” Sertu said as she gave him a big hug.

  Like most kids, Luca was not fond of hugs, especially from adults. “Ugh,” he said in a disapproving manner.

  “Well, just hurry up, little master,” Sertu said. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

  Sertu exited the room, and closing the door behind her, left Luca to be by himself. After all, Luca was in for a big day, and it would do him well to have some quiet time to think and prepare for his upcoming trials. He hummed a tune while he finished getting dressed.

  Luca lived with his father, Druuk. Their manor was situated a few miles from the walls of the palace. As the second prince, that is, the second oldest son of the king, Druuk was not allowed to reside inside palace walls. That honor was only bestowed to the king, the first prince, and any of their immediate families and staff. Yet, Druuk had complete access to the palace at all times, and because he was still a prince, all reverence was given to him by the people of Bune, for it was his birthright.

  As his son, Luca was also given certain privileges, such as being able to access the palace and enjoy some of its comforts, regardless of the fact that the king had never recognized young Luca as his legitimate grandson, for the king believed that Luca’s mom, Evie, was nothing but a harlot who fancied herself as nobility. This tension between Druuk and the king had always bothered Luca, and he always blamed himself for the rift, although he kept this deep in his thoughts and made sure never to reveal it to his father.

  That morning Luca did the same as all other mornings, which was to neatly place his clothes side by side on his bed and get dressed in an orderly manner; he always liked to be precise. After laying his things on the bed, he sat down beside them and took off his night garments. But before he could put on his training pants, he needed to secure the wooden leg onto his own.

  Because of his status as a prince, he’d had access to the greatest craftsmen, and after some time, they were able to forge a durable and effective wooden leg made from the strongest of trees. As he grew older every year, a new one was made to compensate for his growth. The one he put on that day was especially made for him by his father’s good friend, Vohro.

  Vohro had been fond of Luca since the moment the little prince had been born and made sure to protect and care for him as if he was his own son. Yet, Vohro also had a son, whom he named Vehru, and Vohro loved his son more than anything. He made great efforts to keep Luca at Vehru’s side so they could grow up to be good friends like he and Druuk were, and to watch out for each other, for one day they would have to do without the guidance of their parents.

  This superior wooden leg that Vohro crafted for Luca was forged in a way as to be resistant to physical force and stress, so it was fitting for Luca to use it whenever he was required to perform physical feats or put great strain on the leg, especially when he trained with his blades. This wooden leg he was about to put on would be a great asset in helping him obtain his final blade.

  For you see, Luca was a Davinian, that is, he was a member of the prestigious Blade School of Daví, a thousand-year-old school known for its legendary swordsmen. It was customary for all children of nobility to attend the school and learn all seven levels of blade mastery. Yet, due to his disability, Luca was initially denied entrance, for it was believed that he would not have the ability to perform all the movements needed to become a Davinian master. But at last, Prince Druuk was able to persuade the Davinian masters to take in Luca for training on a trial basis, and he was admitted to the Blade School of Daví at the age of six to learn basic movements and concepts.

  Surprisingly, after the first year, the masters witnessed a fire in Luca that existed in no other student, and though it came with great difficulty, Luca quickly learned all the movements needed to handle being a Davinian apprentice. He was not quick on his footwork, but to offset that, he became proficient with his upper body. He learned how to create a great center of balance, even with his disability. And his techniques, his slashing and counters, were all up to par and sometimes even surpassed others. Would he ever become a great master? Probably not, but the determination that bred inside Luca garnered him respect from the masters and also empowered his spirit, enabling Luca to advance from level to level. It wasn’t long before Luca had earned all six of his lower blades and was ready to test for his final blade, his long sword, which all students must acquire before being recognized as a Davinian “Servantu,” a master of blades.

  Luca grabbed the wooden limb and hooked it onto his leg, and where it met his own, he wrapped a strong and flexible adhesive bandage to secure it nice and tight. He put a thin, yet durable, metal brace around the area and snapped it shut. This part always brought him discomfort, and that day was no exception; he gave a pained sigh.

  The last thing he wrapped around his leg was a long leather strap. His father had always told him the leather strap had belonged to his mother, and Luca found the leather strap to be comforting when secured around his leg, as if he was constantly
in his mother’s embrace, even if it was just his leg. Luca had never been fond of hugs, but a hug from his mother would’ve been something he would have truly welcomed, for Luca never knew his mother; she died during childbirth, when she and Druuk were attacked by a horrendous beast.

  He took the strap, which measured about four feet in length, and starting from one end to the other, wrapped it around where the wooden leg met his own.

  “When all is done and you run it through—all five toes you’ll have—and round and round it goes—and if it makes you cry you’ll know—soon those tears will dry because—you will have all you wished for—as you lay dreaming dear boy—for now you have a foot to call your own—and all five toes you’ll have,” he quietly sung as he wrapped the strap around his leg.

  Finished, Luca closed his eyes and sat there in silence. He always liked those quiet moments to himself, especially when thinking about his mother.

  After he finished dressing, there was only one thing left to put on, the thing that he always looked forward to every morning, the thing he always wore with great disbelief: his Davinian vest. The sun had been hitting it all morning, and the leather was warm to the touch as he grabbed it and put it on.

  His six Davinian blades were in a long wooden case atop his night desk. The case had a carving on top that told a story, one of a heroic warrior who led great armies against the evil king. It was a fable his father used to tell him over and over when he was just beginning to comprehend stories. He’d always been fond of that one. Luca opened the case, and the steel breathed with life, all six of them, and when Luca picked them up, he could hear the songs in their teeth.

  One by one, he took each blade and put them in their appropriate slot in the vest: two on his back, two on his chest, and two on his belt resting on his hips. The one that was missing, his long sword—an empty sheath awaited it on the middle of his back.

  After all the blades were perfectly snug in his vest, he grabbed his Davinian Ren, which was a shorter, sleeveless version of the traditional Davinian robe, and his soft, wide-brimmed hat, and made his way towards the door. But before leaving, he stopped and stared at a drawing hanging up on the wall next to the door. It was a drawing of his mother that his father drew of her a long time ago. She was dressed in silver, and her long, curly hair was of the fairest color. Her eyes sparkled like two stars, while her cheeks were the color of the sun’s kisses, and she sat along the bank of a river, with her feet splashing on the clear waters. Druuk always made it known to Luca that his mother had fancied the things of nature—she loved, as Druuk put it, the “act of breathing.”

  Luca reached for the drawing and took it. He rolled it up and placed it inside his pants pocket. He left to start his perfect day.

  Stepping out of the manor, he ran to the front gate, where his carriage stood waiting. The day was radiantly lit up by the sun, and the sky was clear of any blemish. The wind was whistling the softest anthem, and the air was crisp and clean. Luca enjoyed every ounce of his breaths.

  All three of the manor’s housemaids waited outside to bid him well. Sertu approached Luca with a small bag. “Here are some things to nibble on while you make your way down to the school,” she said. “I know it’s a long ride.”

  “Thanks for that,” Luca said, grabbing the bag.

  “Oh, boy, you know it’s my job to keep you fed,” Sertu said, knowing she did it because she loved him.

  Luca smiled first at Sertu but suddenly turned serious. “Oh...”

  “What’s the matter, Master Luca?” Sertu said.

  “I forgot—”

  “Forgot what? What!” Sertu said.

  “I forgot to give you a hug,” Luca replied sweetly as he put his arms around Sertu, knowing that she was fond of hugs.

  “Oh, you—stop it!” Sertu said. “Now go on, you’re already extremely late. Hurry up and come back so we can celebrate!”

  That day was a perfect day for a celebration, and Luca rushed up to the open-air carriage, climbing inside. Luca’s driver was asleep—at least, he pretended to be.

  “Gertred,” Luca said. “I’m ready.”

  But the driver kept still; he was funny that way, always playing practical jokes on Luca.

  “Gertred, we need to get a move on it,” Luca said as Gertred kept his eyes closed, smiling. Luca reached inside his ren and gently brushed the handle of the blade on his right chest, and it made a soft, yet clear sound, splitting the wind in two. “Would you like another haircut, Gertred?”

  And as he said this, Gertred snapped forward, quickly displaying a fullness of life. “Sorry, Master Luca,” Gertred said. “I was only messing with the master. Please forgive me. I thought you might like a good laugh this morning, seeing you’re late and all.”

  “Don’t apologize, I’m just nervous,” Luca said. “But I appreciate the gesture. Now, if it’s no trouble, Gertred, please do your best to get us to the procession line as fast as possible.”

  “As you command, young master,” Gertred said, tugging at the horses’ reins. “Go on! You heard the master!” And with Gertred’s yell came a roar from the horses as they sped out and made their way down the road, spitting up dirt and grass in the air while Sertu and the other maids waved them goodbye.

  Luca sped off in his carriage, on his way to the annual “Spadas” celebration, or “testing of blades,” ready to embrace his destiny and compete for the final rite that would make him a Master of Daví. The Spadas parade was about to begin, as all of the students from the provinces of Esterra had arrived from their long journeys, lining up along the entrance to “Ave’s Path.” The Blade School of Daví was situated at the end of this great mile-long road, and as an annual event, the Spadas parade drew large crowds, and all manner of life ceased to be, if only to accommodate this important and joyful occasion.

  After some time, Luca’s carriage disappeared into the horizon on its way down the long path that cut through the hills of the barren moors. The path went down a few miles, leading to the lowlands where Ave’s Path was located. Luca flirted with the wind, and it forced all the strands of hairs on his head to flop in every direction imaginable, and in the midst of all this chaos, he managed to peek through the dark strands engulfing his vision. He saw Ave’s Path situated just below the hills about a mile away from them. He noticed a dance of collective nervousness, like a multitude of ants readying themselves for war. The vision of this communion between warriors gave him a yearning to join in the fellowship with the students; he was eager to be part of this utopian chaos.

  The massive line of students and carriages were consumed by a spectrum of colors. Glimmering in the sun, with all shapes and sizes, varying in materials and quality, the students’ formal wear exhibited the colors of their homelands, the provinces. It was a sharp contrast to the bleak moors that cradled the lengthy procession line; anemic they were, as if all matter of sustainable life had broken down and deteriorated the many cells that made up the life source of the sloping moors.

  Though, this was not the case when it came to the moors that embraced the southern part of the kingdom of Bune. The northern lands, where the palace and school resided, were like an evil twin to the south’s enchanting canvas of green pastures and crystalline rocks. But this northern land Luca called home, and as long as the sun stood above the land and showered him with its majestic warmth, he was satisfied with the flaws of his kingdom, a beauty he once called a dreary romance.

  The Spadas was a time for merrymaking and profit earning. The Bunish people would set up camps and shops along Ave’s Path, peddling their goods and trades to the hundreds of people that had traveled from all across the land to enjoy the splendor of the annual ceremony and to cheer on their native students.

  In Esterra, there existed a number of provinces. A province was considered a region of Esterra known to entertain a certain culture and lifestyle that was particular to that part of the land. Each province had its own commonwealth or body politic, and all provinces worked together in t
he overall ruling of Esterra.

  Only two of the provinces were of noble status, the Royal Province of Bune, which covered the southern region of Esterra and housed the Blade School of Daví, and the Royal Province of Corco, a massive, imperial-like city which made its home in the northern region. All other provinces were referred to as the noble commons, meaning they were respected by the noble provinces though they were of common status.

  It was customary for the provinces to cheer on a Davinian student during the annual Spadas. Students from all over looked forward to the chance of advancing in the levels of blade mastery, especially Luca. He had dreamt of this day ever since he joined the Davinian Order.

  Luca and his carriage neared the procession line with about half a mile still to go. As Luca began to prepare his things, he sensed an uneasy feeling creeping up behind him, something that, all of a sudden, terrorized his inner senses. He turned to the northern horizon, to the farthest peaks of the Bellowing Mountains, and he saw a dark lining slowly overtaking the slopes of the forest-infested terrain, and for the first time that day, he felt insignificant, like a pestering bug ready to be smashed into oblivion.

  “Oh, look, Master Luca,” Gertred said as he pointed down towards the mass of people heading towards the parade. “The ones in silver, they must have come from Corco.”

  Luca’s focus was broken, and the feeling that he’d had just seconds before quickly abandoned him. He turned to the people down below and stared in amazement. “I see them,” he said. “They must have traveled for weeks, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, yes, Master Luca,” Gertred said. “Just the journey across the Bellowing Mountains must have taken them at least a week, and that’s without sleep.”

  “Look at those,” Luca said, pointing to a mass of people holding a huge flag of purple and white colors. “Where do you think they’re from?”

  “If my mind serves me right, I believe they’re from the woodland realm of Janvai,” Gertred said. “Master Luca, that’s where the young Mister Jenóu hails from.”

  “I didn’t forget,” Luca said. “He’s the youngest ever to become a seventh-blade.”

  How could Luca forget? He had admired Jené Jenóu for some time now, for he was extremely fast with his blades, something Luca always strove for. But he never could remember where Jené was from. “Janvai,” Luca said with wonder. “Hurry up, Gertred.”

  “I’m trying my best, but I have to keep you safe as well.”

  The carriage hurried down the last sloping path on its way to the procession line. As it approached a hard turn around a corner, Gertred spotted a large object lying on the side of the path. “Master Luca, do you see that?”

  “It looks like a carriage of some sort,” Luca said.

  It appeared that some peasants had suffered an accident with one of their wheels as they were making their way down to the parade; it had completely torn off from the rest of the carriage. From what Luca could discern, there were two families, each with young kids, and the men were desperately trying to fix the wheel but failing miserably.

  “Should we stop?” Gertred said. “After all, it is your duty as a Davinian.”

  Luca pondered it over, and knowing that he was late for the procession, made a hasty decision. “Keep going,” he said. “We’re already extremely late as it is.”

  “Are you sure?” Gertred said as if he was giving him another opportunity.

  “Yes, Gertred,” reiterated Luca. “Please, heed my wishes.”

  “Will do, young master.” Gertred sped around the corner, leaving the peasants to deal with their own misfortune. A few seconds hadn’t passed before Luca began to feel smothered, and a feeling shot into his soul, drilling into it like someone taking a screw to his heart and burying it deep inside. He had thought he’d made the right decision, at least for his sake, so why was his inner being preaching the contrary?

  Luca turned to look back at the peasants, but they had already disappeared from his view. Riding down the pathway for a minute or so, they reached a corner akin to the one they had just passed, and after they made the turn, Luca noticed another carriage in distress. But how could this be? Was this a second chance, perhaps? So Luca acted without thought.

  “Gertred,” Luca said, raising himself to a standing position. “Look there—another carriage. We can help this one. Halt now.”

  Gertred spotted the wreck, yet he was wary. It was strange for them to come up on a second carriage just mere seconds after passing the first one. “Are you sure, Master Luca?”

  “Gertred, you sure are quick to question me today.”

  “I’ll do as you say, then.” Gertred pulled the carriage to the side and stopped a few yards away from the other carriage.

  This second carriage was almost identical to the first one they had passed, but it was slightly different in an odd way. It looked like it was hastily put together and poorly constructed. One of the carriage’s wheels, in fact, the same one that had torn off the first carriage, the left rear wheel, was torn apart from it.

  There were two families standing by the carriage, just like there was with the first one, and they appeared to be standing in the same spots as the others before them. But these families were abnormal in a sense, for they were well groomed, sort of too perfect to be heading out for a daylong celebration. Also, it seemed that the family members, the mothers, daughters, sons and fathers, did not resemble each other; they did not appear as a blood-related brood. The kids had flaming red hair, but the parents’ hair was dark, with black mounds of wavy locks. And they all appeared ghostly and white, as if too much white makeup had been applied on their faces and limbs.

  Luca jumped off his ride and made his approach. The people did not move much but just stared at the young Davinian as he walked over to them, and before Luca could ask them if they needed assistance, one of the men yelled out “YES” in an erratic manner and flashed a crooked smile. The rest of the family abruptly grinned in unison, as if they were forced to be amicable.

  “Do you need help?” Luca said. “It looks like you do. Did you say yes? Did you say I could help you?” But they did not respond. Luca turned to Gertred, and the loyal servant gave the young warrior a suspicious look and shrugged his shoulders as if to say “I don’t know.”

  Luca turned back to the man, stepping closer to him. “You’re all well dressed for a casual ceremony,” Luca said. “Is there something special you’re looking forward to?” There was no answer from them. “Where do you hail from?”

  Finally, one of the men pointed to the horizon, just beyond the Bellowing Mountains.

  “You come from the mountains?” Luca said. Yet again, there was no answer. “I guess that makes sense, for if you were from these lands, you would recognize me as prince.”

  “We know you are a prince,” one of the children said, “but a prince of what?”

  After an awkward, silent pause, Luca decided to quickly fix the wheel. “Well, I’m late for the procession,” Luca said. “I must tend to your carriage.”

  Luca turned away from them, grabbed the detached wheel, and brought it over to the carriage, where he knelt down to inspect the damage. “Well, that’s strange,” Luca said. “There’s no sign of damage on the axle here, but the wheel is smashed for no apparent reason, it seems.”

  At that moment, something made Luca turn his head to the horizon, and he saw a darkness creeping down the mountains in the distance. He lowered his head and looked at both his forearms; they were inundated with goosebumps. His back suddenly arched, as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice onto his fresh skin. Why am I feeling like this? He turned his head to his left and noticed that one of the men had come up close on him, and Luca looked to his feet. The man had on sandals, and when Luca got a closer look at his toes, he noticed they were decayed.

  Luca stood up and turned to the man, who now sported a forced smile. “I need to get my tools from the carriage,” he said, backing away from the man, keeping an eye on the rest of the gro
up.

  When he reached the carriage, he made like he was fumbling with his things in one of the storage trunks. “Gertred, look lively,” whispered Luca. “We’re breaking away on my signal.”

  “Understood, my prince,” the driver replied. He need not ask as to Luca’s motives; he already knew the reason.

  Without giving it anymore thought, Luca made a motion that took him up in the air, landing securely in his carriage; he was a Davinian warrior, after all. He knew swiftness, yet he did not want to meddle in dark things, so he made the decision not to create any conflict with the strange families before him.

  “Where are you going, prince?” the pale-faced man said.

  “Come with us, prince,” the child said whose hair was fire.

  “Now, Gertred!” Luca said.

  Gertred flipped his wrists with precision, and the reins of the carriage tapped onto the horses’ backs, and they were off like a runaway carriage speeding down the path, with Luca and Gertred never looking back. It took them no longer than three minutes to make up the rest of the mile they had left before reaching the procession line, and both Luca and Gertred had never been so relieved, yet this only lasted for a small moment, for Luca quickly found out that being late to the tournament’s procession line was not a permissible matter. There were a number of Davinian guards mounted on horses riding up and down the line, making sure that no student was to sneak in under their noses.

  Luca noticed his friend Vehru sitting in the carriage belonging to the Royal Province of Bune, and beside Vehru, an empty space awaited him—but he was not the only one to notice. Just as he took his eyes away from his friend, Luca spotted one of the guards riding up to the carriage, possibly to inquire about the empty space. And if things couldn’t have gotten any worse, Vehru, who had not noticed the guard coming upon him, raised his arm and waved to Luca.

  “This is going to be harder than I thought,” Luca said with a big sigh.

  Yet, a reprimand from one of the Davinian guards paled in comparison to what he had experienced on the path down the moorish hills. Luca turned to the horizon one last time, and he felt that the day might ultimately take a turn for the worse.