Chapter 10 #4
Xara nods solemnly. “Swords infused with dragon scales or pegasus feathers or griffin talons hold great power. Creatures have been hunted into near extinction. Many have gone into hiding. There are fewer than ever at the tree … so fewer people have decided to take the risk.” Her fingers curl around the edge of the table.
“What I’m trying to tell you is the practice has mostly died out, because most of the people who try it hit the ground.
Nothing saves them. And they … they are immortals. ”
Her eyes meet mine, and her implication is clear. The chances of one of these mysterious creatures choosing us, saving us … are low. It’s not a cruelty. It’s truth.
I look down at the map. The land we have covered from the gates is almost nothing. And in those short miles, we have nearly died several times. We need creatures. They could be the difference between making it to the Land of the Gods … and not.
“I’m still willing to take the risk,” Zane says.
“Same,” Kira agrees.
I look up at Xara. “How do we get there?”
She sighs. “Stay off the main road. Even if you wanted to travel with rotted heads, the Masks will be seeking revenge. They’ll hunt you down.”
“So, we go through the forest?” Zane asks.
“Gods, no,” Xara says, shuddering. “Avoid forests at all costs. Ancient creatures lurk within most. Others are perfectly harmless. It’s hard to know the difference before it’s too late.” She points at the river. “Here. It flows north.”
Xara must sense my apprehension, because she says, “I have a boat. You can use it.”
“You would … give us your boat?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I’m letting you borrow it. When you’re done, it will return to me.”
Before I can ask how, glasses begin to clink at the back of the bar, the sound like music. A dozen people must be working to make that much noise. I peer around her. “Do you … do you have employees?”
Xara smiles, and motions for us to follow. When she pushes the door to the kitchen open, the clanking intensifies. I expect to find a roomful of immortals efficiently scrubbing dishes.
But it’s empty.
Glasses fly through the room. I duck, barely avoiding a mug to the head. Water splashes. Towels lift as if held by invisible hands.
I stumble back, and Xara chuckles.
“Is—is this magic?” Kira asks, clinging to the doorframe as if afraid to take any step closer.
Xara nods. “The inn was gifted to me. Enchantment is built into its very foundation. It runs itself, just like the Great Houses.”
I remember her hands—the calluses. The respect of the warriors.
She turns her head, long braid shifting over her shoulder, and that’s when I notice markings down the back of her neck, sparkling silver lines melted right into her skin.
My chest tightens. They almost look like mine, but no … they’re thicker and shaped—
Like a sword.
“You’re a knight,” I say.
Xara tracks my gaze, and fully lifts her braid, revealing a fully illustrated hilt up her neck. The rest of the sword must run down her spine. The ink glimmers, just like metal. It’s as if her weapon has been melted down and imprinted onto her skin.
She reaches back—and with a brush of her fingers, the hilt of the sword peels off, becoming solid in her hand.
My mouth drops open. Is that an option? Carrying this great sword in my scabbard is making my muscles ache. I’d much rather it be reduced to a tattoo.
She releases her hold, and the sword falls back into its glimmering lines.
“I was a knight. Not anymore.” With that, she leads us out of the kitchen. Xara must sense the questions we’re barely too polite to ask, because she adds, “I led a battalion to victory, and this was my gift.” She motions to our surroundings.
“And the boat?”
Her smile speaks of a long story she’ll probably never tell us. “Another gift,” she says simply, her eyes glazed over with a memory. The edges of her mouth twitch.
Then she’s facing us again. “If we time it right, you’ll be on the water through the night and arrive the next day.” She nods to herself. “Yes … yes, that’s the best plan.”
With a casual order from Xara, the kitchen gets started on packing a sack of food and filling three fresh canteens. The door opens, spitting out the filled basket when it’s ready.
We fetch our weapons from the floorboards, and then we’re outside again, bathing in sunlight.
It’s instinct to look for shade. On Stormside, I track the arc of the sun like an enemy, scavenging in certain places depending on its position in the sky.
Here, fully hydrated and fed, its rays filtered through the sheen of magic, I tilt my head back and sigh, taking it all in.
It’s the third day of the quest. With a creature, we have plenty of time to make it to the other side of the map.
I hope.
“Is that another imprinted weapon?” Zane asks. He’s looking at Xara’s fingers. There, along the side of one of her pointers, is the glimmering tattoo of a small blade. Xara runs her thumb down it quickly, like striking a match, and it flips onto her palm.
She twirls it expertly between her fingers, as if she’s done it a thousand times before. “It marks me as part of an order. The Dagger Sisters, we call ourselves,” she says, eyes lost in a memory. The metal sinks into her skin again.
“How do you do that?” I ask. Can I are the words I don’t say.
She smiles at the hope in my tone. “It’s a long, painful process, unfortunately. You have to be well bonded with your blade to even attempt it. It’s a commitment, of sorts.”
Kira examines her own weapon as we make it to the edge of the village, Xara’s presence parting the crowds of curious immortals.
“Beautiful craftsmanship,” Xara says, glancing at it. “May I?”
Kira hands the sword to her, and Xara smooths her fingers down the hilt. Flowers are carved delicately up its blade. There’s a glittering purple stone in its grip, the same color as her eyes.
“This was made by faelings,” she says, turning it over. “A long time ago.”
“Faelings?” Kira asks, carefully taking the sword back.
“Forest fairies,” she clarifies. “It’s rare to see them nowadays, but they’re some of the only safe beings in the forests. Some try to seek them out, but the woods kill travelers more often than not.”
“Which forest do they live in?” I ask as we pass through the village wall. A different warrior is on watch. He nods at Xara. She nods back.
We walk down the short bridge, then take a turn before the main road, onto a light green plain.
“All of them, I suppose. Their home is enchanted. It’s constantly moving, so as not to be discovered. The only people who happen upon them do so by chance, or by invitation.” She looks at Kira. “It’s a valuable blade, with a history, though the metal might not be of glimmering steel.”
Kira frowns, and Xara shakes her head. Her words grow fierce. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t a great sword. Metal matters. But heart matters more. Swords grow stronger based on their wielder. They draw upon our strength … just as we draw upon theirs.” She nods at Kira’s blade. “Keep it close.”
Kira grips it tightly, staring at its etchings in wonder.
“And her sword?” Zane asks, nodding toward the one on my back.
Xara doesn’t even look at it. Her eyes remain on the horizon. “Hers is dangerous,” she says. “Keep it sheathed. The more people who see it, the more people who will want it.” She grimaces, gaze drifting toward my spine. “Immortals will do anything for better metal. Swords like that …”
She looks straight ahead again, as if forcing herself not to look at it. As if something within it is dragging her attention …
I think about the warriors in the tavern. Each taking turns. Each pulling, over and over, as if in a trance. I think about the Masks doing the same.
A babbling river breaks me out of my thoughts. It sits below us, water whispering over worn stones in a sheet of rippling silk. The only streams I’ve seen on Stormside are mostly dried up. This one looks close to spilling onto land.
We stop along the slanted trees lining the river. A boat is tied to one of them. It’s small and made of expertly sculpted wood, with intricate designs running along its side.
Xara’s expression turns grave. “No matter what, find shelter before sundown. A village, if you can. You’ll be fine tonight, but for the rest of them …”
“Why?” I ask. “Why is night so dangerous here?”
Xara looks around, as if someone might be listening, just beyond the trees. She leans toward us and whispers, “The God of Death’s demons emerge from underground at night, killing everything in their paths.”
The God of Death. At the sound of his name, the shadows at our feet seem to lengthen. The birds stop chirping.
Still, Xara pushes on. “Even our best knights have been torn to shreds by teeth like swords.” She closes her eyes. Swallows. “It wasn’t always like this.”
“What happened?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Only the gods know. All I know is, one night, everything changed. Hundreds were lost. We woke up … and blood was smeared everywhere. We found … only pieces.” She cuts herself off. “The night kills even immortals. Do you understand?”
We nod.
“Good.” She leans down and whispers something to the boat. Directions, maybe. She drops the pack of food and canteens inside, then motions for us to board.
Zane does without issue. Then Kira. Then me. The wood shifts beneath my feet, sending me falling onto my ass. I sit up quickly, heart in my throat.
“My boat never flips,” Xara assures me. “It is no ordinary boat. You’ll be safe on the water.” She opens her mouth as if to say something else—then stops herself.
But there’s something I need to know.
“I thought immortals were better off than us,” I say, quickly. “And you are, of course … but the gods don’t serve you either. They’ve damned you too.”
It’s not really a question. But Xara nods.
“The gods only serve themselves,” she says. “Whatever legends you’ve heard about them, they’re worse. Do yourself a favor and never cross one.”
Then she unties the rope.