Sword from the Sky Page 4

  “WHAT WERE YOU WAVING AT, YOUNG SIR?” the Davinian official said.

  The young student, who was shy in nature but had the built of an adolescent athlete, turned to the official and pondered on the matter. As calmly as his father would act on any given day, he explained himself.

  “I was looking at the sun,” Vehru said. “It has become quite whimsical this morning, but the birds seem to be in full flight, so I made friends with the wind.”

  Now, Vehru knew he had just spoken nonsense, but the official did not, and therefore a cloud of confusion rained down on the official’s head, and to fully save himself from any humiliation, he avoided the subject altogether and spoke of something else.

  “Rightly so,” the official said. He noticed the empty space next to Vehru and spoke of it. “And who is to be sitting next to you?”

  “I’ll know only when he gets here,” Vehru said.

  “He?”

  “Or she.”

  “I see,” the official said. “Well, it would seem best for me to wait here and see who ends up stealing that seat, for this person, whoever he is, is extremely late, and it seems only fair to subtract points from that student’s examination, if, of course, that student is to be tested today.”

  “Yes, that would seem best,” Vehru said, knowing it actually didn’t seem so good for Luca.

  Back at Luca’s carriage, things were tense. Luca only had a minute at best to come up with a plan to get himself inside that carriage and next to Vehru without getting caught for being late. His thoughts raced through his mind, and his eyes lit up, as if crashing into an idea he never knew was there. No matter, it was too late, for he turned his head to his side and found Mastro Vohro sitting on his horse a few feet away from the carriage; he had sneaked up behind them, surveying the procession line with a quiet focus.

  In Esterran, “mastro” meant “great.” It was a title given to the Doctors of the Blade School of Daví, meaning the grand teachers of the Davinian blade arts. Mastro Vohro had taught hundreds of Davinians the way of the blades, and possessed a skill that was beyond most Davinian masters.

  But Vohro’s journey as a Davinian did not come easy, for since birth, Vohro had been deaf. It was a disability that put him through the greatest hardships as a child, and even onto adulthood. In those days, deaf people were treated as subhuman, forced to rot in the dirt-ridden roads of Esterra. Fortunately for Vohro, he was destined for something greater. After accidentally bumping into a Davinian warrior near the roads where he begged as a young boy, his curiosity for the Order led him to the school; there, he found acceptance and compassion.

  At first, most did not believe that a deaf boy could perform such complicated movements that were required to control the powerful Davinian blades, but what Vohro lacked in hearing he made up for it in sight. He could see twice as much as a man and not nearly enough as the sky; this was the gift that had been bestowed upon him at birth. Vohro could decipher every single cut of a blade and every foot of its swing. It was this quality that made him one of the most feared warriors in all of Esterra.

  “Err…young master?”

  “I see him, Gertred,” Luca whispered, but the young Davinian could not escape Vohro’s immense field of vision. The mastro turned to Luca.

  “Having second thoughts?” Vohro said.

  “No, Mastro,” Luca said, finding Vohro’s tall and brooding presence quite intimidating. “I’m actually late to the procession line. I sincerely apologize, teacher.”

  “It would be foolish to apologize to me,” Vohro said, “for I’m late as well.”

  “Yes, true,” Luca said, “but you’re a mastro.”

  “And perhaps one day, you’ll be one too,” Vohro said. “But not if you miss the procession line.”

  “But how can I sneak into the line?” Luca said.

  “Don’t go to the line like a thief, Luca,” Vohro said. “That’s not the Davinian way.”

  “You’re right, Mastro,” Luca said. “I am late, and I should never have pretended to be otherwise, regardless if my sleeping in this morning was unintentional. It would seem that shame rose with me this morning and has yet to leave me today.”

  Vohro, who had been taught to be strong in discerning spirits since he was young, searched Luca’s soul for any sign of spiritual trouble. “There’s no need to wallow in shame, Luca,” Vohro said. “We’re all constantly learning, yet it’s your shame that teaches you knowledge. Shame is there to perfect you, not to consume you. Wasn’t it shame, Luca, that you felt back there when you failed to stop to help the peasants?”

  “How did you know about the carriage?”

  “I’ve been trained to know a lot of things deep in people’s hearts,” Vohro said.

  “It was more than shame that I felt, something like a sense of departure.”

  “Departure? From what, might I ask?”

  “From a compass hidden deep inside of me.”

  “Like you were possibly taking the wrong path?”

  “Perhaps,” Luca said. “It was as if the compass was pointing me towards another direction, towards another action; there were two paths, and I chose poorly.”

  “Action, you say?” Vohro said.

  “Yes. It was as if it was letting me know that I acted in a way I ought not to have acted.”

  “Exactly, Jubahn,” Vohro said. “What is not important is what path you choose, but what path you ought to have chosen. You have been taught a lesson, one taught not by books nor learned people, but from something not easily understandable. Yet, you have accepted to learn from it, regardless of its intangibility.”

  Luca paused and pondered on his words. “Well, books do help.”

  “Spoken like a son of a scribe,” Vohro said with a wide grin. “Come with me.” Vohro offered his help to Luca, and after taking his hand, Vohro pulled him up onto his horse. He turned to Gertred. “Thanks for getting him this far, good sir.”

  “Of course, Mastro,” Gertred said. “It was my pleasure and honor. Please do well, Master Luca.”

  “Thanks for your help, Gertred,” Luca said.

  Following Gertred’s words, music began to fill the air. The people gathered around the procession line began to cheer for the parade down Ave’s Path to commence.

  “It’s time,” Vohro said. But before Vohro could steer the horse in the right direction, he sensed a gray spirit in Luca. “Jubahn, why haven’t you told me about the second carriage?”

  “You know about that?”

  “Luca, it’s important you make known all the dark things around you. Never keep those things to yourself. What can you tell me of it?”

  “It was exactly like the first, but the families were abnormal,” Luca said. “They didn’t feel...human.”

  “So darkness comes.”

  “What do you mean?” a wide-eyed Luca said.

  “Jubahns shouldn’t worry about dark things, especially when you need to focus on your testing.” Vohro motioned for his horse to head down the last stretch of the road before reaching Ave’s Path.

  Vohro reached the carriage where his son was waiting and sneaked up on it without the official noticing his presence; he did this not to deceive him but to test the official. Luca promptly jumped off and landed next to Vehru, just as unnoticeably as Vohro had pulled up to the carriage.

  The official turned to his side and set his eyes on the young Davinian. “Where did you just come from?” he said. “Ah, well, regardless, we’ve been waiting for you, young sir. Can you explain why you’re late?”

  Vohro tapped the official on the shoulder, and he turned to him.

  “Mastro!” the official said. “I didn’t sense you there.”

  “But you should have,” Vohro said. “Your infatuation with finding out the perpetrator of this empty seat has dulled your senses. That desire caught a hold of you. Expel it and rouse yourself. Break your mind free from that sleepwalk.”

  “Yes, Blademaster,” the Davinian official said.

 
; “The young prince was with me,” Vohro said. “He was late because of an unfortunate turn of events. When he had knowledge of his error, he did his best to correct it.”

  “Of course, Mastro,” the official said, turning and leaving.

  A brief moment passed before Vohro himself was sneaked up on, and he felt a blunt object pressed coldly on the back of his neck.

  “Maybe you need to wake yourself up from that lucid daydream you tend to drift off to whenever you lecture people about their shortcomings,” a mysterious voice said.

  Vohro turned around with fire in his eyes. “Maybe you need to remember that I’m still deaf,” he said.

  “That is a good point,” Jeskun said.

  “Good morning, Mastro,” both Luca and Vehru chorused in unison.

  Mastro Jeskun was the mirror image of Vohro in his younger days, before a vastness of gray had overtaken the deaf swordsman’s beard. Jeskun, on the other hand, was a handsome and muscular man with golden locks, a chiseled face, and a dark beard. He had been Vohro’s longtime personal pupil, and he was a highly adept teacher of blades, especially when it came to the twin blades, the Davinians’ Nunsurrum and Prossesur; no one in the school was as skilled as he was with these two, not even Vohro.

  “Today is a good day for merrymaking,” Jeskun said, tapping his former teacher on his shoulder.

  “You never take these things seriously, do you?” Vohro countered.

  “What’s there to take seriously?” Jeskun said, rubbing both Luca and Vehru on their heads. “You just go up in front of everyone, pretend that you’re fighting, and then you get a sword. It sounds simple enough, right? It’s not like you’re stuck in some perilous forest in the middle of nowhere, chased by a hideous beast that’s twice the height of a man.” He took a bite of a piece of bread he held in his hand.

  “Huh?” Vehru said.

  “Young ones need not be hearing those stories,” Vohro said.

  Jeskun leaned closer to the boys and whispered, “Remind me sometime to tell you more about that one, definitely when old grumpy here is not around.”

  “You know, I can read your lips,” Vohro said.

  “Well, yes, I made sure of that,” Jeskun said. “That’s what being a pain in the rear is all about.”

  “Ha, I see.” Vohro smiled at Luca and patted his son on the chest. He turned to ride off, but not before taking the rest of Jeskun’s bread. “Much obliged, Blademaster,” he said, galloping away.

  “Wow, and yet he always calls me the thief!” Jeskun said. “All right then, go break a leg, you two.”

  Luca kind of angled his face at Mastro Jeskun.

  “Err...well, you get...you know what I mean,” Jeskun said, his cheeks reddening.

  “Of course, Mastro,” Luca said.

  Jeskun turned his white stallion around. “I’ll be off now before I make a bigger fool of myself. Good luck!” The boys watched the gallant mastro retreat from them and head to the front of the procession line.

  “I have your ceremonial ren,” Vehru told Luca, handing it over to Luca. “You left it at my manor the other day.”

  “Thanks for that,” Luca said. He put on his ceremonial ren, donning the colors red and white, those of the Royal Province of Bune. The carriage they sat in was grandiose, and it carried a number of students, Luca and Vehru sat at the front. The procession line stretched for at least a few hundred yards, with all of the Davinian officials near the front.

  The Spadas procession was typically made up of only Davinian members, except for the inclusion of the Royal Court of Bune, whose carriage actually led the mile-long parade. Along the path of the procession, all manners of people lined up along the curbs of the road, yelling and cheering the young warriors on. As the whistle rang in the air, nervousness rained down upon the many students who had waited so long for this day. Vehru could not stop fidgeting in his seat.

  “I’ve never seen you this anxious,” Luca said.

  “I just don’t want to disappoint my father.”

  “You needn’t worry about that,” Luca said. “You’re the best I’ve seen this year, and your father knows it regardless of how you do today. I know he’ll be proud of you.” Vehru smiled at his friend. “If you don’t mess up, that is.”

  Vehru’s smile vanished. “Is that supposed to encourage me?” he asked with a frown.

  “Well, I thought it would make you laugh,” Luca said. “Laughter is supposed to calm the nerves, but I guess that’s only for some people.”

  “Yes, well, for that to work, you’re supposed to be funny,” Vehru said. “I should have left your ren at home.”

  Vehru and Luca nudged each other back and forth for some time.

  “Are you done?” Luca said.

  “Yes, I feel much better.”

  The two friends took in the day’s air and appraised the people around them. The energy of the Bunish people seemed to have dissipated from the prior year.

  “It’s quiet,” Vehru said.

  “Yes, too quiet,” Luca said.

  “The people seem tense, on edge,” Vehru said.

  “That is strange,” Luca said as he discreetly took a gander at the horizon beyond the mountains.

  “Are you ready for this?” Vehru said.

  “I’ve been ready for a long time,” Luca said.

  Vehru turned to get a good look at the parade behind him and focused on a young Davinian warrior only three carriages away.

  “What are you looking at?” Luca said.

  “That’s Jené,” Vehru said.

  “Oh?” said a curious Luca, glancing at the famous Davinian. “Do you think he’ll hand out the final blades?”

  “It’s possible—he is quite famous,” Vehru said. “He might be as famous as you.”

  Luca just scoffed at his friend’s remark.

  “Where is your father?” Vehru said.

  “He told me he’d be waiting inside the school.”

  “Why isn’t he with the king inside the royal carriage?”

  “I don’t really know,” Luca said, but he knew that it probably had something to do with him and the rift he had caused between his father and the king.

  “Maybe he’s setting up your tent inside the testing hall?” Vehru said

  “Possibly,” Luca said with a smile.

  The uncomfortable dialogue between him and Vehru made Luca mute for some time as they made their way down Ave’s Path. Now and then Luca would stare at the people waving their arms in the air, reaching out to their favorite student. The dynamic spirit of the cheering crowd slowly seeped into his nerves, and he wondered how he would fare in a more private testing instead of the spectacle he was about to endure.

  Breaking his thoughts, a small noise came upon him from his rear, followed by a loud thud right in between him and Vehru. A long, thin kid about the same age as Luca sat next to him. Pabru had managed to travel from where he was sitting all the way in the back and across the length of the entire carriage using the other students’ shoulders as stepping stones. Needless to say, the students were displeased with him, but he shrugged it off with curt indifference.

  Pabru was Luca and Vehru’s closest friend, but more annoyingly, a rambunctious little snot.

  “I’ve got something to show you,” Pabru said with a devilish grin. “I’ve been working on it all week.” Pabru opened up his right palm and demonstrated his ingenuity to his friends.

  “What is it?” Vehru said.

  “It’s a shiny ball,” Luca said.

  “It’s not just a shiny ball,” Pabru said. “I made it out of a strange metal I found a couple of weeks ago, while I was serving in the fields before training.” He put his palm up to his face and marveled at the sheer brilliance of his creation.

  “It’s a ball—how amazing,” Luca said.

  “It’s a metal ball, Luca,” Vehru said. “Please be more appreciative.”

  Obviously displeased, Pabru angled his face towards his two friends. “Why do I even bother?”r />
  “Why do you even bother?” Luca said.

  “You’re a quick learner, Pabru,” Vehru said. “I’ll give you that.”

  In full retaliation, Pabru dropped the metal ball to his knee and exposed a tiny chain attached to the ball, and with that chain he swung the ball around his head. Instantly, the most deafening sound played against the wind. It was so high pitched, that Luca and Vehru had no option but to bend in agony, covering their ears with their hands. Matter of fact, the whole carriage was in a suffering state.

  “What?” Pabru said, who forced himself to speak while simultaneously being tormented by the sound. “Ears hurt, do they?”

  The sound stopped, and everyone remained speechless. That is, until a big shoe landed in the back of Pabru’s head.

  “Ouch!” he said, examining the projectile that landed in front of him. “A shoe? Honestly, who throws a shoe?”

  Cries of “me” resonated throughout the crowd.

  “Who’s me?” Pabru said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Luca said.

  “Serves you right!” Vehru said. “How did you make that thing, anyway?” Vehru grabbed the ball from Pabru, gave it a once-over, and passed it on to Luca.

  “The Davinian smithy took a chance on it, and it worked out quite nicely,” Pabru said. “The metal itself is what causes the noise. It’s a wonder, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, strange indeed,” Vehru said.

  “It’s really light, too,” Luca said as he moved it around and tapped the ball on the side of the bench he sat on. “And sturdy. Do you know where you found this metal? Is there any more?”

  “Why?” Pabru said. “Looking to make a new leg?”

  Time froze with a silent awkwardness.

  Vehru leaned over and smacked Pabru in the head. “Sometimes I wonder.”

  “It’s actually not a bad idea,” Luca said. Vehru’s eyes lit up, and Pabru cleared out his ears.

  “You mean to say you want a metal leg?” Vehru said.

  “Why not?” Luca said. “If it’s light enough, then what would be wrong with that?”

  “But you’ll be all shiny,” Vehru said, “and you’d rust for sure.”

  “No, not with this metal,” Pabru said.

  “Make it happen,” Luca said, turning to Pabru. “If it’s possible, let’s take a go at it—and the stronger, the better.”

  While Pabru and Luca talked amongst themselves, Vehru turned his head around to look out into the procession line. Using some quick discernment, he spotted a girl whose whole face was impeded by a white and green flag swaying with the wind. And as if the flag could feel Vehru’s wishes, it revealed the girl’s face—and what a face it was, for it outdid the day’s brilliance. Her golden hair amplified her light eyes, and her freckles were like tiny kisses from the sun. Her name was Luleh bal Heatheranla, and to Vehru, she was more beautiful than anything he could’ve ever imagined.

  Both Luca and Pabru synchronously noticed Vehru stretching his neck out like a wild ostrich, and following his line of vision, the two boys immediately came upon what Vehru ogled at.

  “What in Ave’s name is going on here?” Luca said.

  “Oh, dear,” Pabru said.

  Vehru abruptly turned to them, as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “What’s the matter?”

  “Goodness me,” Pabru said.

  “Just stay focused,” Luca said.

  “I’m extremely focused, thank you very much,” Vehru said.

  “Yes, that’s quite obvious,” Pabru said.

  “We’re here,” interrupted Luca.

  The procession line reached the end of Ave’s Path, or what seemed to be the end, for the path ended abruptly into a deep gorge stretching straight across for two-hundred yards. At the bottom of the gorge ran the Alcorba River, whose calming streams kept the deep ravine in a state of tranquility.

  Across the two-hundred-yard length of the gorge was a huge bridge that was a hundred feet wide, made entirely of gold and marble; it was known as the “Vie ba Lonu,” but to most, especially to all Davinians, it was intimately known as “One’s Path.” The end of the bridge attached to the back wall of the gorge’s cliff, but what was most interesting about the bridge was the structure that it harbored.

  The Blade School of Daví stood triumphantly on the great bridge; it was built to encompass the last hundred yards leading towards the cliff. In fact, the actual gorge cliff formed the back wall of the monumental structure. There was a reason for this, for on the face of the cliff making up the back wall of the school was a mysterious, imprinted image of a man who many people believed to be the Blademaker, the founder of the Davinian Order.

  The Davinian School was an overwhelming structure—twelve floors constituted the totality of its levels. Nine of the floors were underneath the bridge, reaching all the way down to the bottom of the gorge. The other three were above the bridge and were always referred to as the “Upper Three.” But what stood out the most was a monumental tower known as the “Tower of Daví”, situated near the back of the school.

  The architecture of the building was beautifully harsh, with all manners of corners and protruding structures seemingly pointing towards the sky. The whole of the structure was made up of white and gray concrete with marble accents throughout its many nooks and corners. Streaming lines of gold accentuated the architectural lines that kept the building in its geometrical balance. Additionally, the school shone like the stars, due to the many gems that were speckled about; sapphires, emeralds and rubies made the bulk of the captivating sea of mirrored lights.

  The procession line started up once again, and the experience of passing along One’s Path was so uplifting that most souls remained quiet, only listening to the sounds of the soothing stream below them, rustling their garments with the lightest touches of serenity.

  At last, the carriages reached the front of the school, and before the Davinians stood two doors composed of the brightest gold known to man. These golden doors seemed to stretch all the way to the sky, for they were all of three stories high and were equally as wide as they were tall. Though the doors were overwhelming in scale, they still brought about a harmony between the ordinary and the grandiose.

  The first carriage broke away from the rest and moved forward to the edge of the doors. It carried only one person, and it was he who also sat at the reins of the horses pulling the carriage. He was covered in a white cloak that spoke of glory, and under his hood were a white beard and a hardened face that could move mountains. His hands seemed to shine like a rainbow of gems, and when the wind broke against him, it behaved as if it had hit the highest peak in all of Esterra. This man was Siel, known to all Davinians as the “Servantu Alta,” or “High Servant.” He was the highest Davinian in the land and the head of the Davinian Order.

  Siel dismounted the carriage, but nothing was heard, for he was as quiet as a grave in the ground, and when he stepped onto the dirt, the wind had more noise than him, and one could hear the heartbeat of the smallest bird before one could ever hear Siel’s own breathing.

  He walked up to the edge of the doors, and although he walked with one foot in front of the other like the rest of men, he seemed to be in one place and the next without the foolishness of steps. Before reaching the doors, he stood silently, opening up his cloak and revealing a white vest that harbored his golden blades. He knelt before the doors and paid his respect to the school.

  The golden doors that stood before him rarely opened, for there were two smaller wooden doors located at the bottom-center of the taller, extravagant doors. These were the doors used for entrance, for to pass through the golden doors was to always pass through the poorest of doors; it was the Davinian way.

  But before he allowed the students to enter the school, Siel reached for a sack resting near the bottom-right of one of the doors. In the sack was some feed, and there was a jug of water next to the sack. He took both items and walked back to his horses. He began to feed them and g
ive them water, and by doing this, he brought about peace, and the horses were satisfied, and they loved him more each second. The students watched on with admiration, for this was Siel, the greatest of servants.

  After the horses had reached their fill, Siel returned to the doors and placed the feed and water back in their places. With a key that hung on a chain around his neck, he opened the wooden doors. Yet, before letting anyone in, Siel turned around and set his eyes on the horizon, lingering near the Bellowing Mountains. Something troubled him. Then he angled his eyes a bit, as if turning his vision to something else, and for a passing moment, Luca could have sworn the Alta was looking straight at him. This only lasted for a few seconds, so Luca thought nothing of it.

  “Bring the children in,” Siel said, and there were screams of joy in the air.

  One after the other, the students dismounted their respective carriages and convened with each other, forming one straight line. The officials entered first, followed by the students. Once inside, the children were kept in the Assembly Room: a long, hallway-like area with twenty-foot windows lined up next to each other spanning the length of the room. Porcelain and marble made most of the surfaces, along with golden accents lining the windows and corners. There was a smell of wild flowers, and the river breeze kept it nice and cool inside. However, no matter how cool it was in there, a heated anxiety circulated itself around the tense crowd of children.

  To break the nervousness, a strange sound came forth from outside the doors, seemingly coming from the school’s courtyard. The students turned to look, and there was a huge black mass heading their way. Giant, wind-induced swooshes were heard, like if someone was using a big fan of feathers to circulate air throughout the room. These were in fact feathers, but not from a fan, but from something boundlessly more powerful.

  The dark mass grew larger, and the swooshing sounds increased. The children were taken aback by its enormity. Seconds later, the mass took shape: that of the biggest bird known to exist in Esterra. It was the great Mor.

  The Mor glided over the students, forcing them to quickly duck and scatter. It reached the golden perch that awaited it and stood over the Davinians with its imperial presence.

  “Welcome, Prebansa,” Siel said. He turned his presence towards the crowd of students and motioned to the officials, “Shut the doors and begin with the preparations.”

  ***

 

  MOST OF WHAT HAD BEEN