Chapter 25 #2
As we walked the uneven cobblestone path, he told me of the various sections of the town.
The streets we passed that reeked of fish were where the fishermen lived, and the flower sellers who specialized in making potions to heal sicknesses were a few blocks down.
Over there was a booming metal-working trade, everything from big pieces like furniture, machinery, and weapons, to small, delicate things like jewelry.
There was a thriving business for those with the talent of imbuing power into the things they created.
Farther out, I could see the apple orchards, the smell of fresh spring grass drifting toward us.
“They make a special drink here, from the apples, after they ferment.” He paused next to a street vendor and came away with two small glasses. Handing one to me, he clinked his against mine. “Bheatha.”
“Bheatha,” I murmured. I took a sip and spluttered a little as the alcohol hit my tongue. The second sip was smoother, kinder, and I could feel the apple flavor burst through.
As we walked on, the crowd thickened and he reached for my hand to keep us from being parted.
His palm was rough, calloused from years of holding his sword.
As the standard jolt zapped through me, I squeezed his hand involuntarily, a movement he returned.
Emboldened by the drink, even after we had left the crowd behind, my hand stayed in his.
We continued walking hand in hand, and I felt like I was another person.
So far away from the problems that consumed my every thought.
The events of last night faded into the distance, as though they had happened to someone else.
Here I was, just a girl, walking along with a handsome warrior.
I hadn’t felt this free, this light, in a long time.
And I knew it was due to him. The fluttering in my stomach was constant, increasing as he sent that private smile my way.
And then I was distracted by a temple on a hill.
Made of white marble, it breathed with its own inner golden fire.
From the dome at the top, taller than every other building around it, a bell was ringing out the hour.
Details of flames were etched into the walls of the temple.
With that color and that decoration, it could only be the temple of—
“Soul and fire,” I said aloud.
Griff looked at what had caught my attention. “Close. This is the only temple dedicated to light. We’re not entirely sure why, but it seems to predate almost everything else.”
“Can we visit?” I wasn’t sure why I phrased it as a question. I was going there regardless of his answer.
“Sure,” he said, but I was already climbing up the hill toward it, unable to fight the pull, a strange buzzing in my ears.
At the entrance was a tall set of marble steps, each one carved from stone that held captured sunlight within its depths.
As I took my first step, I swore that golden light fled from my foot like startled fireflies, scattering in every direction, only to swarm back brighter than before.
With every step I climbed, the buzzing intensified as the light blazed brighter.
My thoughts turned hazy as I set foot into the temple proper.
I couldn’t process my surroundings. It was like stepping into the light of the sun, a light so pure and intense it seemed to have solid form.
I blinked frantically, my eyes streaming, trying to focus through the sunlight.
The buzzing in my ears had reached the point of being almost deafening.
As I continued deeper into the temple, drawn forward by some invisible tether, the buzzing started to transition into something that sounded more like… a song?
I barely noticed the wards in place as I stepped through them, the threads of power parting before me, recognizing something in me that I didn’t understand.
I continued walking several more steps, the singing now thundering through my ears.
Griff’s voice, swearing in the background, dimly registered like an echo from another world.
There, in front of me, enshrined in a pool of light, was a sword like no other I’d seen. Except that wasn’t true—I’d seen it in my nightmares, felt its weight in my hands. I’d carried it through dreams, facing the darkness, standing between those I loved and the shadows.
The hilt was elegant, smaller than your average sword’s hilt, as though it was made for a feminine hand.
The pommel was a sunburst worked in metal that shifted between silver and gold depending on the angle of light.
Wrapped around the grip was leather so supple it looked like it had been worn smooth by countless hands before mine.
But it was the blade that stole my breath, shimmering in the light, rippling like water caught in moonlight.
Coursing across the groove down the center, etched in script that flowed like flames, were words I didn’t recognize but somehow understood with a knowledge deeper than language. It was the sword’s name.
Anamlae. The sword of light.
I reached out a hand toward it, the bright white light flaring like a beacon answering a call. The closer my fingers came, the more intense the radiance grew, until it felt like I was reaching into sunlight.
As my palm closed around the grip, light blasted out in a dome, filling every corner of the temple with its brilliance. There was a loud crack, resounding in my chest. Somewhere deep within me, in a void I hadn’t known existed, a piece of a puzzle snapped into place.
When I opened my eyes, the light was receding, leaving me blinking in its gentle afterglow, as if only embers remained. The sword was still in my grasp, warm and perfectly balanced, as though it had been made for my hand.
“Hey, you,” I thought toward it, somehow not feeling at all foolish talking to a sword.
A feeling came back that I could only describe as a wiggle of pure joy. The sword was happy to see me. Happy to be in my hand. I felt a wide smile spread over my face.
It was only then that the awareness of the world around me came flooding back.
People were running into the temple, and Griff stood as close as he could to me, but with the wards still shimmering in the air, he was stuck on the other side of the invisible barrier.
His face was tight with worry, and something that might have been awe.
I stepped through, feeling the wards dissipate the second the sword was no longer within them.
I understood, without knowing how, that they had disappeared because they were no longer needed to protect it.
The sword had found its wielder. Now it was my job to protect it, just as it was the sword’s job to protect me.
I had only ever seen priestesses tend the temples, but a priest was shouting something at Griff, more and more people coming into the temple behind him, drawn by the flashing light.
“She cannot remove it from this temple!” the priest shouted.
Griff looked over at me and gave me his private smile, his eyes shining.
“That is a precious heirloom, created here. It was recovered and returned to the city to protect after the death of the Princess Violet Andrever.” The priest was shaking with rage.
“And this is the Princess Lily Alexandra Andrever.” Griff gestured to me.
I paused, my full name on his lips sending a shiver through me.
“Anamlae chose me,” I said quietly, the sword still in my hand. It flared with bright white light in agreement.
Shocked at hearing the name spoken, the priest rounded on me in anger. “You cannot take it!”
“She already has.” Griff’s grin was infectious. “And it was only given to Ventaris for safekeeping, until it chose another wielder. Which, as all who are here can bear witness, has just happened. How else could she have stepped through the wards?”
How else indeed.
After Griff teleported us back, we shared an excited grin, and without exchanging words, went straight to the training yard. It was relatively empty this time of evening.