Sword from the Sky

by R. Janvier del Valle

TWO MOONS, THAT’S WHAT THEY WERE, OR AT LEAST what they appeared to be. The eyes of the strange woman who stood towering over Luca swaddled him with a false sense of well-being. But was this creature truly benevolent? His intuition told him different, or at least, sent waves of confusion up and down his limbs. So, for his own sake, his immediate reaction was to step back, only to have this overbearing woman grace him with a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

  As Luca stepped away, he was met by his father, Druuk, who took him back a couple of steps, placing him near a column in one of the corners of the hall. The woman did not turn to them but only raised her head to Siel, Vohro and Jeskun.

  The windows throughout the tournament hall darkened, as if they were shunning the sun’s rays, and the hall began to lose most of its light. The student’s faces grew dim and the air turned cold. Yet, the red-haired lady remained brilliant with her pale skin, and her color began to shine like an aura of immense energy. She wasn’t a blinding light, but she radiated the paleness of her skin, and in contrast, her glimmering red hair sparkled, and whenever a small shadow consumed the whole of her hair, the sparkles shined like small stars in the bewitching sky. It was a mesmerizing effect, and it appeared to the Servantu Alta that it was doing its job, for the crowd began to fall into a trance-like state, and this was most disturbing.

  Druuk stared at the woman’s face, and his eyes opened up as big as they could, for he was captivated by the lady’s features. She resembled someone he once loved, who he still loved, and this made him tremble down all the length of his body.

  Sensing his stare, the lady turned to Druuk, and as she did, Druuk witnessed her face changing shape for a split second, as if something extraordinarily beautiful had just become as foul as death’s stench, but before he could realize her ugliness, she turned pretty once more, now even more so, and again, he was reminded of the face he once held in his arms. She gave Druuk the strangest of smiles and a quick scowl before turning her head back to Siel.

  “I have come for my sister’s son,” the lady in red said. “My sister, who was Evehnieh bal Astrahl. You might have known her as Evie bal Bune, mistress to the Prince of Bune.”

  Upon hearing this, Druuk filled up with anger and mumbled under his breath, “She was not my mistress.”

  “Reveal yourself, visitor, before we speak any further,” Siel said in a calm but stern voice.

  “I am Malasorta bal Astrahl,” the lady said. “I come from the northern mountains, from the region of the crescent moon, where there is no sun.”

  “Why have you brought darkness into this hall today?” Siel said.

  “I know not what you speak of,” Malasorta said. “I only bring happiness, as you yourself can witness.”

  With that comment, Siel turned to look at the crowd and noticed that all of them were staring at Malasorta as if they were in pure ecstasy. Siel motioned for Vohro to approach him but realized that he, too, was hypnotized. He turned to his left and saw Mastro Jeskun trying to fight the effect, but failing with every second that passed. And now Siel was beginning to get frustrated with this impromptu visit.

  “Open your eyes,” whispered Siel.

  Instantly, everyone snapped out of their trances, gasping for breaths. Siel motioned to Mastro Jeskun. “Gather everyone and take them to the meeting hall, and stand guard with the rest of the officials,” Siel said. “Do this speedily.”

  “At once, High Servant,” Jeskun said. He ran down to the crowd and began herding them to the other room.

  Within moments, the hall became vacant, except for a few, who now surrounded Malasorta. Druuk’s older brother, the first prince, appeared next to him in order to get a closer look at the lady. The first prince’s name was Drunen, and he was as tall and as elegant as his younger brother. Drunen was also surprised at the similarities between Evie and the powerful presence that stood in front of him, but the strangeness of Malasorta’s face was so strong that it bothered all of his inner senses.

  Her cheeks were like carved stone, her lips like soft sponge, and her eyes were of silver pearls. She had lashes so long that they seemed powerful enough to ensnare the smallest creature that came upon them. She was a strange beauty, one that exceeded the normal boundaries of beauty, that is, something never known to man, but only in dreams. She was that vision found in those moments where one would walk under the blue moon in the grayest of nights and turn a head to a passing shadow, only to be left with an idea of an image, something foreign to the space that held up one’s surroundings.

  Drunen recognized this as being so and walked up to his brother to express his concerns. “Is she truly her sister?”

  “I don’t believe so, brother,” Druuk said. “She never mentioned a sister. She never mentioned any family, really. I asked her about her past a few times, but was always met with resistance, so I pursued it no more. I didn’t care. I was happy with the woman I knew. I would assume it a possibility for her to have kin, but this—this is just strange.”

  “She looks remarkably like Evie,” Drunen said. “But you’re right. There’s something not right about her. I just... Regardless, brother, we must proceed with caution.”

  “Rightly so,” Druuk said.

  The woman turned to the brothers, making her way towards them. “My time is valuable, sweet princes,” Malasorta said. “As I believe yours is as well. We can do without the whispering of things under a cloud of royal breaths. It would be pointless, for I can hear the smallest of squeaks as far as the eye can see. Oh, yes! My eyes are profound, more so than the darkest waters of all the seas. But—” She stopped and glanced at Vohro, who was to her right. “I’m not the only one here who can see all things beneath the sky? Or have I misjudged you, deaf one?”

  And now everyone’s focus was on the formidable mastro, whose eyes were blooming bigger than ever. He had yet to come out of her enchanting spell.

  “What’s wrong, O vessel of silence?” Malasorta said. “Have I offended you in any way? Does my loud voice mock you? Are you having difficulty reading the redness of my lips? Do they trample on my words, moving too fast, at a speed inconceivable to you?”

  Vohro saw her mouth moving at a rapid rate, faster than any mouth had ever moved, yet Malasorta spoke with a normal voice, and her words were crystal clear to all around.

  “Or do I speak as if death has overcome my mouth and left only but bloodless stone as my lips? Do they not speak to you as they should?”

  And now Vohro witnessed something different, for Malasorta’s lips were moving as slow as the setting sun, to the point that it appeared as if they had no movement, yet again, to others in the room, she spoke with a normal voice at a normal rate of speed.

  Vohro’s catatonia grew stronger by the minute. The spell Malasorta’s presence had put on everyone in the hall had been amplified by his embracing eyes, so it was ten times as strong and ten times as hard to break out of. But even though he was in a catatonic state, he was still aware of himself and also of his movements. This woman fascinated him, and he moved down from the altar and began circling Malasorta.

  Luca, who had been witnessing everything, was all of a sudden hostage to a sudden fear creeping over him.

  Vohro circled the woman, discerning the prey before him. She gave him the pleasure of being the subject of curiosity as she stood placid, allowing him to fondle her with his charismatic eyes.

  “What do you see, O eyes of the brightest moons?” she whispered. “Do you see me foul?”

  Vohro paused, for he felt odd. The room had turned nocturnal black, and all the souls around him had disappeared. Malasorta’s form slowly began to fade way, or so it seemed, for in a way, it appeared as she had transformed into something else, something abominable. And his dream-like ecstasy turned into a vision, and he saw a dark hill lit up by an angry moon, and upon that hill was a towering monster of human form with long, flowing hair. It was tall and lean, but appeared to be beyond powerful. It was the foulest of creatures, and to Vohro, it was death itself.
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  On the creature’s backside, Vohro could make out a soaring sword of wonder, and he felt the power that it gave off. The moon shone brighter, and more was revealed. The creature was surrounded by a number of wooden stakes, and on these stakes were the bodies of the most innocent of creatures—what seemed to be babies in skeletal form.

  A hurt so ferocious brewed throughout Vohro’s soul that he screamed with his being, but nothing came out. Fear was now the master of his eyes, and they gave out such a tumultuous tremble that Vohro could have sworn he felt the ground moving. He stopped breathing, for he saw the monster lift up a child in torment. His eyes reached for the child, zooming in on his pain. It was Vehru, who had been impaled by the creature’s sword. The foul thing laughed at the sky like a cackling hyena, bringing Vehru up to its mouth in order to take a bite out of his flesh.

  “No!” screamed Vohro, and without thought, he reached for his long blade, but before he could unsheathe his sword, Siel came upon him in a flash, as if he had just appeared in front of him, throwing his arms around Vohro’s mass, holding him in a strong grip.

  “Wake, dear friend,” the white High Servant said.

  Vohro awoke from his trance, finding himself in the arms of his master. He wanted to talk but couldn’t, and all that was heard were the sounds of a deaf man trying desperately to communicate his thoughts.

  “Compose yourself, Mastro!” Siel said. “You have been caught up in a spell. Focus yourself on the moment. Let it go.”

  As Vohro stared into his master’s eyes, he felt peace come upon him.

  “Guard me, my loyal Davinian,” Siel said.

  He let go of Vohro from his viselike grip and turned to Malasorta, whose face brimmed with a sinister smile.

  “Now,” Siel said as he stepped up to Malasorta with Vohro following close behind. “What is the nature of your visit other than to claim what is not yours to claim?”

  “Confidence and stupidity will not garner you any respect from me,” Malasorta said.

  “Then I have spoken correctly,” Siel said. “My words were carefully chosen. I suggest you do the same and choose yours wisely. Don’t let any of your vile spit reach my blades.”

  “You wouldn’t be so quick to pick at me with your tongue if we were under different circumstances,” Malasorta said. “Perhaps alone in a forest, under the darkest of moons?”

  “Is that a challenge?” Vohro said.

  “Enough!” cried a voice from the shadows. It was Dren, the King of Bune. He was as impressive as his two sons, but advanced in years.

  Just as the king spoke his words, the doors to the hall opened, and a slew of royal guards rushed in. Drunen gave them a quick sign with his hand, and the group broke up into two, heading in opposite directions, staying close to the walls, ultimately surrounding them from corner to corner.

  “You will need more than that to silence me, your highness,” Malasorta said.

  “They are not here to silence, but to let you speak freely,” King Dren said. “So state your business, and please elaborate on your claim.”

  “Very well,” Malasorta said as she pulled out a small scroll from her coat. “I have a letter here in my hand from the king of Corco himself. He has empowered me to come here and make a claim for my sister’s son, the boy you know as Lucanah bal Bune. I have papers verifying that I am the sister of Evehnieh bal Astrahl, and by my birthright I can lay claim to any of her offspring.”

  “What’s happening, father?” Luca said. “Who is she? Is she really my mother’s sister? Am I kin to that, father? What does she mean, she wants to claim me?”

  “Please, Luca” Druuk said. “None of what she has said is true. I know it to be so. You aren’t going anywhere. I’m your father; you belong to me. She can’t just take you. Just stand behind me and look lively.”

  Luca did as he was told, and he took a few steps back, hiding himself in the shadows given off by the darkness in the room, and in that blanket of blackness, his eyes lit up like the brightest planets in the night sky, and for once he seemed odd. How much do we really know about young Luca?

  “Why the king of Corco must align himself with affairs that are not his own is most troublesome indeed,” King Dren said.

  “At least the king has enough courage to step out of his realm,” Malasorta said.

  “What do you know of the king’s courage?” Drunen said.

  “Why should we journey abroad where there is no sun?” Druuk chimed in. “Darkness always lies beyond what we can see with our own eyes. Tell me, Lady Malasorta, how dark does it get under that moon of yours? In that northern land where the sun has been shunned by all who breathe in darkness?”

  “You obviously have not been to my land,” Malasorta said. “The sun has not shown its face for a number of years, and that’s how I prefer to have it. At first, when the sun was expelled from our land, when with each day came less light from above, my being was in torment. I cursed the skies for taking away the sun. But after some introspection, I realized the sun itself made the choice not to return to our land, to leave me and my kin, and we grew angry, and despair overtook the land. In time, I began to not miss the light of the sun, and after years and years of darkness, I know not the sun. And that is how I prefer it. It would do you well not to ever come to my land.”

  Malasorta moved closer to Druuk, sidestepping to get a better look at Luca. “Now, him,” Malasorta said. “My precious boy, you belong with your aunt. You belong in the land of no sun.”

  “No, you lie!” Druuk yelled. “Evie never had a sister.”

  “And how would you know?” Malasorta said. “There are a lot of things she didn’t tell you. You can’t be sure that she didn’t have kin. Just look at me. I bear the resemblance of your past love. How can you deny it?”

  “You may look like her in some sort of crude way, but you are not like her,” Druuk said. “She didn’t have an ounce of foulness in her. She was a kind woman. She was the beauty in the birds’ song. She couldn’t have come from your land.”

  “Now who is truly lying?” Malasorta said. Druuk grimaced.

  “My brother is right,” Drunen said. “Evie was nothing like you.”

  “Lady Malasorta, I knew Evie bal Astrahl for the time she was with my son,” King Dren said. “Though I disapproved of her and my son’s relations, never did I feel this way around her as I feel around you.”

  “And what way is that, sire?” Malasorta said.

  “Cautious,” Siel said.

  Malasorta turned to Siel, but silence was her only response, and she spoke on the matter. “But how do you know caution when you don’t even know me?”

  “This caution doesn’t come from knowing,” Siel said.

  “You speak nonsense,” Malasorta said. “Regardless of what you feel, I have these papers, written in stone. One is the validation of my birth as a bal Astrahl. The second is a validation of Evehnieh’s birth as a bal Astrahl. Following, I have a decree here signed by all provinces in the land of Esterra, including both royal provinces, stating the rights of kin to claim any birthright of their kin’s children if death were to ever befall their parents. And Prince Druuk certainly is not his father.”

  “You lie!” Druuk said. “How can you come here and speak that garbage?”

  Malasorta gazed sternly at Druuk. “You know you can’t prove that’s your son. How do we know he’s really yours? Rumor is, you mysteriously showed up one night with him in your arms as my sister was struck down by some horrendous beast you claim attacked you both. And that story is all you have to claim him as your own. Well, I have more of a claim to him than you!”

  Those last few words made Druuk uncomfortable in many ways as he clenched his fists to contain his anger. What did she truly know about his son’s birth?

  “Most importantly, I have a signed release by my sister herself giving me full rights of any future offspring of hers.”

  The king’s face took a turn for the worse, and the princes’ stares fell to the floor, as if
they had been bested in the greatest of battles. Luca’s eyes, still visible in the shadows of the hall, began to fade as he slid down the wall into a crouched position.

  “That can’t be,” Druuk said to himself. “That can’t be her signature. It has to be a forgery.”

  “Be careful how you throw about accusations, old prince,” Malasorta said. “I have the papers here in my hand giving me the authority to claim young Luca as my own. And what do you have, prince? Your word? Luca doesn’t even have your semblance. He is his mother’s own! And I, her sister and his aunt, his true kin!” She closed in on Luca. “As such, dear princes and king, the boy will need to leave immediately with me, and most importantly, he will not test for his final blade. He will have nothing to do with this school anymore.”

  Without restrain, Luca stood up and sprinted towards Malasorta to give her a few choice words, but before he could reach her, his father grabbed him.

  “No!” Luca said. “You lie! You can’t make me come with you. I don’t want to. I don’t believe you. You can’t make me not test for my blade. You can’t make me forget everything that I’ve worked for. It’s not your right. I don’t care what those papers say. I’m a Davinian whether you like it or not!”

  “Luca, please calm down!” Druuk begged his son. “Let us handle this.”

  “Foolish nephew, it is not your choice to make,” Malasorta said. “In time, you will forget all you have ever known, and you will come to know the land of no sun, even if it means us bringing death to your sun.”

  “I don’t care who you say you are,” Luca said. “I’m not your nephew. You’re not my kin. And even if you were, I would deny it. I would disown you.”

  “Luca!” Druuk said.

  “Nephew, your charm far exceeds your manners,” Malasorta said. “He has his mother’s vigorousness.” Malasorta stepped up to the king and handed him the papers. The king looked them over, and all seemed valid.

  “How do you know they aren’t forged, Father?” Drunen said.

  “I’ve seen many decrees and many useless invalid documents in my life, son,” King Dren said. “I can tell the difference between falsity and truth. Sadly, these papers seem to be honest enough. There is nothing in their writing and in their look that might point to a forgery. No, these are truly the words of truth. These papers are valid. But even so, Lady Malasorta, you cannot just walk in here and retrieve your claim in a matter of seconds. There are procedures. There is protocol. We cannot hand over the child on the whim of your claim. It will take days.”

  A solemn silence followed the king’s words.

  “Hand over the child?” Druuk said, breaking the silence. “Can’t you see she’s no kin to Luca? Are we not to even investigate this claim?”

  “What’s the use, Son?” King Dren said. “The documents are valid. But if you must investigate, do so in the few days you might have left with Luca.”

  “You are unbelievable, Father,” Druuk said making an advance towards the king, but was held back by Drunen. “You’re just going to give up?”

  “What else can we do?” King Dren said.

  “I know what we’re not going to do,” Drunen said. “We aren’t going to give him up. Don’t worry about it, Brother. Her efforts are fruitless. Luca isn’t leaving Bune, even if it means a breaking of alliances and so called decrees.”

  “Now you are being foolish,” the king said.

  “Am I, Father?” Drunen said as he approached Malasorta. “Still, why now, my lady? Why have you waited until now to present yourself with your claim?”

  “No reason,” Malasorta said, who was obviously harboring many secrets. “It was just time to make my claim.”

  All of this talk had made Siel grow weary. “There are too many breaths lingering about this hall,” Siel said. “The temperament of your exchanges has blinded all of you to the worthlessness of her documents. Why do you bring these useless papers? I can sense you possess knowledge way beyond that of the average man. So you know your papers are meaningless.”

  “I know not of what you claim,” Malasorta said.

  “Don’t tell me that you are unaware of the laws that have been written in stone since this school was first established,” Siel said. “I think you’re wise enough to understand that one of those laws concerns the conditions involving the admittance of a student. Particularly, the precept that speaks of the student becoming the son or daughter of the school, whereas the school becomes its legal overseer until that student is of age and knowledge to become a servantu, meaning no longer a jubahn. And to become a servantu, one would need to earn their final blade. Luca has yet to earn his final blade, so he is still a jubahn, a son of the Order of Daví.”

  Siel moved closer to Malasorta, so close that the shortest of his blades could reach her throat at any moment. “Lady of the foul moon, Luca does not belong to you,” Siel said. “He belongs to me! And he will test for his final blade.”

  “He’s correct in this,” King Dren said as he approached Malasorta.

  “What trickery is this?” Malasorta said as her face began to lose some of her youthfulness.

  “This is no trick, Malasorta,” Drunen said. “The High Servant is right. My rage over your claim had blinded me to the fact. Luca signed a contract when he was admitted to the school at the age of six. We were all there to witness it. We were all proud, including the king, even though he may seldom show it.” The king might have winced at the comment.

  “At any rate, your stupid laws don’t matter,” Malasorta said. “None of your school’s inferior rules matter when it comes to the laws of the land.”

  “It matters in my kingdom,” the king said. “And as king, I recognize the contract between Luca and the school to be binding. Now, you may go and try to get another handful of decrees and papers and come back to refute my ruling; it is your right. But at the moment, the boy stays here, and the day will continue as it was before.”

  Angered, Malasorta turned her sights on Luca, and her eyes made a connection with his. Luca felt something stirring inside of him, a certain sixth sense, amplifying the reality of his being, as if he had just crossed into a more complex and larger world. He had felt this feeling before but only on rare occasions. Why and how could she have stirred up these abnormal feelings? He was curious.

  “And what about you, my nephew?” Malasorta said.

  “I’m not your nephew,” Luca said as he tried to resist her enchantment but easily failed. He stepped up to her.

  “Luca,” Druuk said, feeling his son break apart from him.

  “Luca, my boy, wouldn’t you want to know all about those strange things that swim inside you?” Malasorta said as Luca moved closer. “Come to me.”

  Luca reached her, and Malasorta held out one of her slender, regal limbs. “Give me your hand.”

  But Luca was stronger than she had imagined, for he was not in a trance. He was just a curious young boy, and he wondered why he had felt a connection with this being. Malasorta resembled his mother in many ways, but she was lacking what Luca had always known to be the truth of beauty, and that was the unseen light he could recognize in his mother’s warm eyes whenever he glanced at the portrait he kept of her.

  “You are no kin to me,” Luca said.

  Frustrated, she could no longer stand the triviality impeding her right to take her nephew away. Without warning, she went and grabbed Luca’s arm, pulling him to her so hard that she nearly took his arm out of its socket. “The child will come with me now!” she said. “He belongs to US!”

  With that screeching yell, the room growled with sick moans, and the darkness suffocated the only light that lived in the room, and all stepped back in fear of the lady—all except Siel.

  Siel’s eyes grew, as if he had confirmed something he had always known, and faster than any spoken word, Siel unsheathed his long blade from his back, raising it up to Malasorta’s throat, and with the movement of his blade came a tremendous gust which knocked Malasorta and Luca a few feet back.
Her hair flew high, and she was trumped by his power, and light once again occupied the room.

  Everyone began retreating backwards, as to give Siel some space, for whenever Siel drew his Rasplendur, the breaking of the skies followed, and the thunder of earthquakes accompanied him.

  “I won’t give him up so easily, old one,” Malasorta said, letting go of Luca with force. “Are you prepared to fight me?”

  “I’m prepared to punish you for making me draw my sword,” Siel said.

  But Malasorta’s eyes turned to something lingering in the shadows to the far right, behind the wall of guards who stood with their swords and shields at the ready. It was a large, shapeless form that was visible for only a breath, and then disappeared as if it was never there. Malasorta was spooked, and she turned back to Siel and to the others in the room; she even searched the rest of the hall with her worry-laden eyes.

  The lady in red started to back away from everyone in retreat of the unknown. “They boy is coming with me whether you like it or not,” Malasorta said as she withdrew to the end of the hall, still facing Siel, as her eyes escaped the light into shadow. “I won’t leave without him.”

  “Lady Malasorta, it would serve you well not to make me unsheathe my blade again,” whispered Siel to himself as he returned the blade to its resting place. “Next time, I will not draw it so lightly.”

  Siel called out to one of his mastros and spoke, “Mastro Jeskun, get together with the first prince and ride out to seek the lady. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

  And as Malasorta reached the door at the end of the hall to exit the room, Siel turned to Vohro and spoke with certainty, “Ring the examination bell. The testing will begin immediately.”

  ***