Sword from the Sky

  ***

  Upon reaching the main hall of the massive Davinian structure, Luca walked softly past the doors into the room, and as soon has he stepped into the vacant space, he saw Siel sitting on the Alta’s throne with mastros Vohro, Jeskun and Gehwen seated to his right in their respective thrones.

  To the left of the Servantu Alta were the seven Davinian Mejurs, or grand specialists of the blades, seated in their exalted seats. Behind Siel were twelve Servantus, in fact the top twelve of the Order, otherwise known as the “Servantu Premera.” All together they made up the Davinian Court of Officials.

  “Come to us, fallen Jubahn,” Siel said.

  As Luca approached, he noticed the hall was dark and unwelcoming due to the weakness of the day’s sun. Once he reached them, he knelt in front of the officials. 

  “I’m here for my exile, Alta,” Luca said, humbly.

  “Let us make this brief, Luca,” Siel said. “For I know that much troubles you, and there are things afoot that demand our attention. I’ll now ask the four Voses to join us.”

  On Siel’s command, four mysterious Davinians entered the hall. These chanters were dressed in dark robes from head to toe. With them they brought some clothes, a vest, and some sort of mask. Reaching Luca, the voses encircled him.

  “Yes, Prince Lucanah bal Bune, because you were pronounced a fallen Jubahn, you’re responsible to carry out the corresponding penance, and thus you’re hereby exiled from the Order and from the land of Bune for forty weeks.”

  “Forty weeks?” Luca said. “That’s a long time, Alta. What am I to do for such a stretch of time? Is there a mission?”

  “No, there is no mission. During your time as an exile, it is imperative that you learn to master your focus. This doesn’t mean that you have a long road ahead of you. I would say it is small, but it is a road nevertheless, and you must travel it. If you keep yourself in the right direction, the road will lead you back here at the end of your travels. You may ask, how do I go about discovering the right path? There is no single answer to that, but if I were you, I would start with the people of the land. Give yourself to them, learn from them, and they’ll give you all they have to offer.”

  “You want me to offer my services to them?” Luca said.

  “I want you to offer up yourself. You have to give yourself completely. Then, can the people put you on the right path.”

  “Anything you ask of me, Alta, I’ll do,” Luca said without hesitation.

  “Luca, I know that you can sense spirit like your father, not yet as proficiently, but you have inside the potential to discern greater spiritual things than anyone in the land. I know you’ve felt a strange presence lurking throughout Bune. Luca, if dangerous and dark things go afoot here at the school and at the palace in the next few days, you mustn’t break the punishment of exile. You must leave regardless of what happens here. This is very important.”

  “These dark things you talk about,” Luca said. “Are they the same things that speak to me and torment me? Do they have anything to do with Lady Malasorta?”

  Siel’s posture stiffened, and his face hardened. “Luca, since you took your first breath, you have been the target of something unimaginable. The reason is still unknown to me, but these things are after you. You must endure and keep focus on the good things in your life.”

  Siel gestured for the Voses to commence with what they came there to do. They lined up in front of Luca with their arms raised to demonstrate what they carried, and they began to chant the Song of Exile, which was a tune that was nothing less than solemn.

  One after the other, they were to give the boy what they had brought with them. The first vose approached Luca, still singing the song of exile, and handed him a long, dirt-ridden hooded cloak, dark brown in color, and it was old and worn. The robe signified the crudeness of the land. He then handed him a pair of soft, worn pants and a shirt of the same dark color.

  “This is your new cloak, Luca,” Siel said. “You must discard your jubahn’s ren once you put this on. And these are your new clothes. These you will wear under your cloak and vest.”

  The second vose approached Luca, giving him a vest. It was well-worn from what looked to be extensive use. The vest had several cuts and scratches all over it, and it was of a dark brown, earthy color, and instead of having the royal crest in the middle, as his present one did, it had a hand-drawn picture of a broken blade, a Rasplendur, to be exact.

  “This is your new vest,” Siel said. “Wear it during your term as an exile.”

  Luca accepted the vest. And the third vose came upon him, singing along with the others. He handed Luca six Davinian blades, but these were not like his own blades; these blades were made of wood.

  “Luca, these blades will replace your real ones during your time as an exile,” Siel said. This hurt Luca the most. “You won’t be allowed to wield your blades until you come back to us. This doesn’t mean that you’re barred from defending yourself if a situation were to arise. You just cannot wield your blades. So, because of this, these wooden blades will serve as a reminder of your exile, and they are to replace the true blades you wear on your vest, starting now.”

  Alas, the fourth vose made his way up to Luca, handing him a strange mask. It was thin and flexible yet durable and was made to fit his face perfectly. The mask had holes cut out for the eyes, nostrils, and mouth. It was crafted of a smooth wood and covered with a soft leather surface painted all in white. Across the cheeks and nose of the mask was a painting of a starry, midnight sky the color of twilight. And encompassing the hole that corresponded to the right eye was a painting of a shooting star, silver and magnificent.

  “Lastly, Luca, you must wear this mask during your exile whenever you’re within the people of the land. They must not know your true self, that you are a prince, but they will know that you were born under a Moon Ire.”

  The last vose retreated from Luca, and the fallen jubahn held all that he had to wear.

  “Luca, you’re to put all of these things on before you leave this school,” Siel said. “And as a show of confidence, we have given you three days to prepare, but after that, you mustn’t be seen. I know that your father is ill. Spend the time given to you with him. He will want to be with you in his time of need.”

  “Thank you, Alta,” Luca said. “I won’t disappoint you.”

  “That is all, Luca,” Siel said. “Remember, do what you think is right to earn your Rasplendur.”

  After he had bowed his head to the officials, Luca took a few steps backward, turned and headed out of the hall. He entered the school’s main passageway, and after the doors closed behind him, he quickly changed into his exile clothes. As he changed into his new clothes, despair entered him, and he suddenly felt the urge to break loose and run with all his might. Once done, he took off running down the school, breaking out into the courtyard and sprinting with all his might down that length of the bridge known to all Davinians as “One’s Path.”

  Sweat poured down the lengths of his cheeks as he ran faster than he had ever run before, but he soon found himself stopping, for he felt the need to walk and contemplate the things around him. Luca had traveled half the length of the bridge when he came upon this sense of peace.

  The sun reflected off the gorge’s expansive cliffs, and he could feel a breeze leap up from the bottom of the river to the top of the bridge, gently lifting his clothes up and invading the dead air space caught between his skin and the surface of his cold mask. He experienced relief, and felt the need to keep himself free of emotion, at least for the time spent crossing the latter half of the bridge.

  The boy looked out of place. He was a dirty old thing, sporting many levels of stains on his garments. The wooden blades he wore were dull in comparison to the marbled floor of the great bridge, and it seemed from far away as if Luca was a speck of dirt cleaving onto something beautiful and immaculate. As he crossed the One’s Path, not one bird sung nature’s hymn. One could not even hear the runni
ng of the river’s hum, but only a desperate sound, that of a solitary wooden leg smacking the bridge’s unblemished floors. How could sorrow be surrounded by so much beauty, he thought. Yet, unexpectedly, he smiled.

  As he reached the end of the bridge, he noticed a Davinian stable in the distance, so he sprinted towards the horsemaster in order to acquire a horse. As soon as he saw Luca, the horsemaster took a few steps back. Luca was still under the impression that everyone in the land would recognize him as a prince of Bune, but this was not so, since he was in the disguise of an exile.

  Luca came to a hard stop, and his feet dug into the dirt, forcing a dusty cloud to come between him and the horsemaster.

  “Who are you?” the scared man said.

  “Don’t you recognize me?” Luca said, becoming cautious.

  The horsemaster just stepped away from him some more. “Are you a thief?” he said. “Take whatever you want, but don’t hurt me please.”

  “No, I’m prin—” and Luca realized that he was no longer a prince to the people of the land. “I just want one of your horses. I’ll have someone bring it back. I promise.” He walked up to a horse and grabbed it by the reins. He mounted it, taking off towards the forest in the distance.

  Luca rode his horse on his way to Loshendu Forest. Now that he had broken away from the glorious bridge, his feelings of anger, pride and doubt returned, and in his fragile state, he had not the strength to subdue them. So he rode on, breaking through the wind, with a pain that amplified the faster the horse pounced on the barren terrain.

  The fog had infected most of the forest, yet the anemic sun had been able to break through some of the fog’s density. No matter. Luca did not have a care in the world, and he rode on for a few miles, oblivious to the fog’s many dangers. Finally breaking into the forest’s borders, the horse became startled by the dense smoke, and it froze its thunderous gallop. Instantly, Luca was thrown into the air.

  Luca flew through the gray mist, crashing hard on the soft, damp soil of the land. The boy lay on his back, feeling the excruciating pain running up and down his limbs. He kept himself still in the grass for a while in order to regain his peace of mind.

  Coming back to his senses, Luca put his hands to his face to make sure the mask was still intact, and he rose up to his feet. He felt the pain of the fall move throughout his muscles, and it only made the indwelling pity feel even worse.

  It took a few minutes for Luca to shake off most of the pain, and he started to jog into the heart of the forest, for he thought maybe his sense of self-pity would die away with some physical exercise. Once he realized that simple jogging did not appease him, he quickened his pace into a run, and as he ran through the forest, with the wild things of the trees watching his every move, he didn’t hesitate to dodge any of the overreaching branches protruding from the various trees. He ran through them, busting their fragile bodies like a hurricane wind wreaking havoc on the forest.

  It was only a matter of time before Luca’s self-indulgent plunge into the forest would fail to satisfy his need for comfort, and he knew that eventually he would run out of steam. He managed to come upon a small clearing in the forest where he could break down in exhaustion and fall to his knees. He bowed his head and clutched his mask. He cried uncontrollably; moments passed as he sobbed in his tears.

  When he finally calmed himself down, he looked up to the sky and saw nothing but mostly fog above him. He looked across from him and saw a tree just a few feet away. It was broken and seemed to be rotting from the inside. It did not look like the trees to the right and left of it. In fact, it looked quite miserable next to them, but the poor tree stood upright, raising its weak arms to the sky with whatever leaves it had left to add to the abundance of green- giving life to the forest.

  Staring at the miserable tree, anger spread across Luca’s body, and he was so enraged that he cursed himself, and with one hasty movement, he took off his mask and launched it towards the sullen tree. The mask shot through the air and hit the tree with incredible force, but it did not break. Rather, the mask bounced off the tree, hit the ground and gently rolled its way back to Luca. It slowed down just as it reached him, ending up leaning against his left knee. Stunned at first, Luca suddenly began to laugh, as if he were the butt of some grand cosmic joke. 

  “It seems I can’t get rid of you,” Luca said. He raised his head to the tree in front of him, the despairing, dying tree.

  “So I guess I’m not alone as long as I have you, little tree. You seem to never give up, with your melancholic arms stretched up to the sky.” Luca grabbed and stared at his mask. “If it is what needs to be done, then it shall be done.” He put his mask back on.

  Luca stood up and walked over to the tree. He sat and leaned against it in order to take in the moment with his newfound friend. And as he sat there with his thoughts on his woes, he noticed that the fog above him began to move away, and it seemed as if a circle of light opened up above him, revealing the noble sun. The leaves were now prettier than ever, and he smiled at the beauty that had disclosed itself to him. He rejoiced, for he basked in the sun’s rays even if it would only last but a few seconds. He closed his eyes.

  As the fallen jubahn navigated the vast halls of his mind, something began to happen above him. Up in the sky, past the clouds, the blueness of the air reigned, and there was a noise about the space of blueness. A cry of thunder and song was heard, as if the sky had split, revealing two worlds: one of noise and one of melodious grace. None could hear this tempest of harmony, for it was far above the clouds. As seconds went by, the canticles ceased, and there was only silence—a dead silence, free of things, space, and time. And it was as if the clouds stood still, when out of the open air, a sword came downward from the sky.

  It did not seem to have been thrown down but dropped with intent. And it dropped and dropped, downward it went, until it no longer could drop anymore. A number of yards away from Luca, the sword slammed into the ground, and a great, big gust of wind shot forth from the blade, shaking the trees and leaves and all the critters about the place. Luca’s cloak flapped with the wind, and he was abruptly awakened from his rest.

  Refreshed with what seemed like a new life, Luca stood up and turned his head in every direction he could, and all he saw was the movement of trees and the scattering of the forest animals. But it all became silent, as if he’d just stepped into dead space; he could not even hear his own inner voice echoing as a ringing in his ears. Gradually, sound came back to him. First he heard the wind, as if it were conversing with him, and he felt it run through his body, as if showing him how to move his limbs in this new life of his, yet, soon after, it stopped.

  He was transfigured into something marvelous. He heard the beauty of the color in the living trees. He saw the music of the leaves surfing the tides of the wind. And he smelled what could not be smelled and felt what could not be touched. He now knew the greenness of the forest without having to use his eyes. But again, after a wonderful moment, this stopped as well.

  A staggering light shot out the cluster of trees to the west of him, and he couldn’t see for a while, until shortly after, the light grew dim enough to where he could open his eyes and focus on the direction it was coming from. He saw critters on the ground rushing past his side, so he decided to follow them and see where they would lead him to.

  He approached the light with more reluctance than the animals, with his hand still raised to cover some of the brilliance that burned his eyes. He progressed through brush and branches, and he followed the critters, for they all knew where to go. Ultimately, he came upon another clearing, one that wasn’t there prior to the sword falling from the sky. He took both his hands and pulled away what seemed to be the final two branches that stood in his way.

  He put his first foot into the clearing and waited. He brought his second foot down and waited some more. He looked up to the sky, and it was clear; no more fog for the time being. He brought his hand up to his eyes to diffuse some of th
e light, and instantly it seemed as if his eyes grew more powerful than ever, powerful enough to behold what had crashed down onto the land. A sword, a gallant thing of beauty, was stuck in the ground right in front of his eyes.

  The sword was and was not like a Rasplendur. It was shaped like one, with a long, two-handed grip, a modest guard, and an illustriously long, two-sided blade of medium width, but also it was much longer than a Rasplendur yet thinner from pommel to point. The hilt gleamed of marble and gold, with a handguard full of gold and sapphires. And the blade was heroic, with the most incredible metal, gleaming like pure silver, and it was of a duo-tone color, for the middle part of the blade, the fuller, was made of the purest gold.

  Near the point of the blade on one side, there was a word, like a name, but it was written in old Esterran, which was something Luca could not translate. As he moved closer to the sword, thoughts raced through his mind. He looked to the east and west, to the ground and to the sky. Where did this sword come from? Did it come from the sky? If it did, how? Did somebody put it here on purpose? But there was no one around. Even more important was the question: could he take the sword?

  Luca approached the skyward blade. Reaching for it, he grasped the hilt, and the wind sung around him, and the critters rejoiced. Luca took the sword out of the ground and handled it with both hands while he adored it with his curious eyes.

  To test its vitality, he walked up to a large stone about twice his size, and with a light movement, he swung the sword upwards then down on the stone to see how much of a cut it would make. The sword did not cut the stone, but rather, split it in two, like it was a piece of soft fruit, and it felt as if he had just dipped his sword in water; it was effortless. Stunned, Luca took a few steps back, and his respect for the sword grew immensely, and he no longer handled it like a master but now like a student. Luca dropped the blade.

  The strangest thing happened after he dropped the sword: seconds after he finished cutting the stone, the sword began to lose its luster, and it grew dull in appearance. It started to stain, as if it was all of a sudden beginning to rust. And dirt began to accumulate all over it, so much so, that none of its beauty was readily apparent, but the markings and name were still visible. It had turned into an old, dismal sword, at least compared to what it was just seconds before. Being that it was no longer intimidating, he bent over and picked it up. He knew whether dull or beautiful, he had to take the sword with him, and immediately after he thought this, a familiar feeling flowed throughout his limbs, and he was overwhelmed with the urge to discern his surroundings.

  So he did, and he felt things around him, things of beauty yet also things of death. It was time for him to be on the move. He looked up to the sky, and the fog once more began to overtake his surroundings, and it grew darker amongst his space. It was now close to dusk; it had seemed that his time with the sword had taken up a number of hours, though to him, the encounter felt like minutes.

  Without thought, he grabbed a blanket from his bag and wrapped it around the sword. Next, he took some rope and tied it around the blanket to keep the sword secured. Under the cover of the fog, he took off into the forest, running as fast as he could towards the border, until he reached his horse, which had not moved an inch, as if knowing he was to wait for Luca’s return.

  Mounting his horse, the boy knew that certain things had been set in motion, unnatural things that he would play a large part in. But what, he thought?

  With a renewed faith in himself and a new sense of purpose, Luca sat idly, studying the darkness looming in the distance. “I sense something, horse,” Luca said, “something I’ve never felt before. The land is dying, and I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”

  Unsure of what was to come, Luca made his way back to the palace.

  ***