Chapter Forty-Two
Sword fighting became a daily occurrence in the garden.
I found it jarring at first, the clash of steel mingling with the soft cooing of doves, the flashes of silver contrasting with sun-kissed blossoms. But I grew used to it all too quickly.
Besides, watching Owen train without a shirt, his muscles gleaming with sweat in the early morning sun, was a great way to start each day.
The others didn’t seem to mind showing up each morning to help Owen hone his skills.
In fact, I suspected they looked forward to their duelling sessions.
They were a break from their own unique preparations for war.
Jace spent much of his time teaching the military about our foes, ensuring they were as ready as possible to kill any corporeal wraiths with their weapons.
For her part, Freya practised creating towers of water from the nearby loch, while Shamus used his magical abilities to smother and banish flames as fast as we could set them.
This was a special morning, though, and we all had different plans once the daily sword fight was over.
When we had first decided to celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving, it had felt wrong to give thanks with the outside world falling to pieces and war looming on the horizon. But Charles had reminded me that each day was a precious gift.
“It’s important to spend time with loved ones, Ms. Kira, and to give thanks for friendship, love, and family—the very things for which we are fighting.”
I hadn’t argued after that. Who knew what the future held? Besides, I was looking forward to celebrating with my friends.
Shae flopped down beside me, a coffee in her hand and an appreciative smile on her face as she took in Jace’s bare chest and arms.
“Best part of my day right here,” she said.
“Right?” I smiled back, my eyes following Owen’s powerful movements.
Every line of his body was coiled with quiet strength, and my stomach fluttered when I remembered how he had gathered me into his arms that morning, his hand trailing down my body as I stretched languidly and pressed against him.
How he had later flipped me over and thrust into me from behind with strong, sure strokes that had me screaming his name and coming more than once.
Definitely a great start to the day.
As if he knew my thoughts, Owen turned and winked at me, raising his sword just in time to block a deadly blow from Jace, who cursed and told him to focus. A satisfied grin was Owen’s only response.
“We could probably do something more useful than ogle our men,” Shae mused. “We do have a big feast to prepare for after all.”
“Probably,” I murmured in agreement, but neither of us looked away.
“Now, there’s a fine sight,” Freya declared as she took a seat beside me, her gaze trained on Shamus as he moved with quiet grace.
She plopped three bowls on the table between us—one with carrots, one with potatoes, and another with peas.
She handed a bowl and a peeler to each of us and began shucking the peas.
Shae and I looked at each other then burst out laughing. Trust Freya to join the fun while still finding a way to keep busy.
“Shae, get your sweet ass over here!” Jace hollered from across the garden. “You need to practise your moves as well!”
“Didn’t hear you complaining about my moves last night,” she shouted back, and I laughed.
“That man has it so bad for me,” Shae muttered under her breath, wearing a smug smile. I grinned back. From the way she looked at Jace, I’d say the feeling was mutual.
I heard Owen tease Jace that he’d met his match, and Jace growled as he just barely blocked an attack.
“Damn it, Owen! I’d like to go into this battle with my body parts intact, thank you very much.”
Owen laughed. “Then shut up and focus.” He turned to me. “Kira, when we’re done here, you and I are long overdue for a sparring session. And I’m going to teach you how to use a knife.”
I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Looking forward to more of your…teaching,” I said, and Owen grinned at me, narrowly avoiding Shamus’s attack. I winced. Perhaps the men would be safer without the ladies watching.
I noticed movement beyond the three men, and when I shaded my eyes from the bright morning sun, I found Charles standing otherwise unnoticed in the shadow of a large beech tree.
Leaning on his sword, he studied the fighters, nodding and muttering at each slash and thrust. He must have felt my gaze on him because he looked up and gave me a wink and a smile.
A moment later, he let out a battle cry and charged at the three men. Owen jumped and Jace shouted, but Shamus calmly blocked him. Freya, Shae, and I almost fell off our chairs from laughing so hard.
“Damn, Charles, you trying to scare us to death before the battle even begins?” Jace clutched his chest, breathing hard.
“One must always be ready,” Charles said with a broad smile. He pointed his sword toward Owen. “Now, my boy, show me what you’ve learned. Jace, you sit this one out. Shamus, let’s see if Owen can do more than show off for Kira.”
I snorted, and Owen chuckled, but he flourished his sword rather impressively and gripped it tighter. He took a fighting stance, knees slightly bent, ready to shift in any direction. Jace joined us on the porch, and we watched as Charles and Shamus began circling Owen.
Owen attacked first with a downward cut that was fast and clean.
Charles met him with a clash of swords, letting his blade slide down and away, redirecting the force with minimal effort.
Owen pivoted, stepping into a second cut that was horizontal this time, but Shamus caught it on the flat of his sword with a deep clang, and pushed it back.
Charles and Shamus closed in, alternating strikes.
Charles used short, quick feint-thrusts, testing Owen’s footwork.
Shamus chose wide arcing slashes, each one meant to crush or disarm.
They continued like this for a long time, but no one seemed to gain the upper hand.
Owen, sweating and breathing heavily, wove and spun and was able to block every attack.
But he was tiring, barely keeping his footing, and I knew he wouldn’t be able to sustain this gruelling pace for much longer.
I held my breath, sitting on the edge of my chair. My eyes tracked every slash Owen blocked, every thrust of cold steel that rushed toward his exposed skin, every flash of shining silver that arced toward his head. The others around me were just as captivated by the scene before them.
“Breathe, my boy. The blade should be a part of you. Stop forcing it,” Charles instructed, his voice calm and steady.
Owen relaxed at these words, and his blocks became quicker, allowing him to counter with attacks of his own. He drove the older men back, his arm a blur of motion, the symbols on the blade beginning to glow with a bright light.
“That’s it!” Charles shouted. “This blade was your grandmother’s, Owen. Did you know that? Only she or one of her descendants can touch it.”
Owen looked surprised by this new information, but then he grinned and the symbols grew brighter still.
“The four of us were there the day your sword was forged,” Charles grunted, blocking another powerful strike from Owen.
“We poured our essences, our powers into it. Shamus’s fire gave your sword—and, by extension, you—its fury and light and the power to burn away shadow.
Freya’s water gave it memory, truth, and clarity.
My earth powers gave it strength and patience and the power to stand bravely in the face of danger.
And thus, the first three symbols appeared—light, truth, and bravery represented by fire, water, and earth. ”
I understood the symbols now. The wavy vertical lines represented fire; the wavy horizontal ones, water. The jagged horizontal lines symbolized earth. And the straight horizontal lines had to be a fourth element.
Shamus moved like a storm toward Owen. Fast and aggressive, every strike was meant to overwhelm his opponent, forcing Owen back with sheer momentum.
“But we needed the missing element—air—before we could complete the sword,” Charles continued, his blade rising just in time to catch a strike from Owen and redirect it.
“Marion added swiftness and precision, and the fourth symbol, air, appeared. Many years ago, even before your mother was born, I asked the sword not to speak to our children or grandchildren. I wanted to live a normal life, and when the Rootstone did not glow for Sophie, Ava, or you, I chose not to reveal my identity. But the time for secrets is over. Can you feel the sword’s spirit, Owen?
Marion always said it spoke to her. Listen. The sword will guide you.”
Owen’s head tilted as he listened, and then he smiled and answered Shamus’s furious attack with precision, turning each blow aside, his feet moving across the ground as if the fight followed a pattern only he could see.
Owen’s next counter slipped under Shamus’s guard with surprising speed and then steel met skin. For one heartbeat, time stopped as blood welled along a shallow line across Shamus’s forearm. Owen immediately lowered his sword, his eyes wide and chest heaving.
“Shit! Sorry, Shamus!”
Shamus looked at the cut and grinned. “There it is. Finally.”
“Well done, my boy!” Charles ambled over to Shamus and inspected the cut. “Mmm…not too deep. Nothing our Ms. Shae can’t fix.”
Every head swivelled toward Shae, who had gone wide-eyed and completely still.
“What?” she squeaked.
I cast my mind back to the Peninsula, when my forehead had healed.
Shae had held my hand. And she and Jace had healed so quickly—there was no way they could have made it to shore with dislocated shoulders.
I recalled the healed cuts on all three of them after the events by the river, as well as my own rapid recovery.
I had assumed it was Neamh that had healed us.
But perhaps it had been my friend as well.
“Shae!” I gasped in excitement.
I could see her replaying everything that had happened, too, and then she beamed at us.
Stepping lightly down the stairs, she approached Shamus, who held out his arm.
Charles murmured some words to her, and she placed her hand on top of the cut.
A few minutes later, she removed it, and Shamus’s arm had healed. Not even a scar remained.
“Well done, Ms. Shae.” Charles smiled at her. “Yes, this will be very useful. The more severe the injury, the longer it will take your magic to work, but we’ll begin honing your skills immediately. Imagine what you can do for our fighters during the battle.”
Shae beamed at all of us while Jace strode quickly to her side to wrap her in a hug.
Freya left the porch to pat Shae on the back, give her healed husband a kiss, and headed off into the garden, never one to let a little blood and magic stop her from retrieving more vegetables for dinner.
Tears pricked my eyes as I marvelled at all the things in my life I was grateful for, especially today of all days.
When Charles motioned for me to follow him, I set the carrots down besides the abandoned peas and potatoes. Once he’d put some distance between us and the others, he pulled out a notebook with the words Shadow Hunter written on the front in a familiar handwriting.
“Marion’s book!” I gasped.
“Aye. She would have wanted you and Owen to have it. It’s our story—we wrote it together—so I’ve always kept it close to me as a reminder of her.
I suspect that’s what Todd was looking for when he broke into our houses.
Well, that and the sword. When he read about it in A History of the Druids, he probably thought he could sell a priceless artifact and claim the discovery for himself.
Or something foolish like that. He wouldn’t have known he couldn’t touch the sword. It’s…particular about who wields it.”
I flexed my hand. “I know that pain.”
“This book explains everything. Make sure Owen reads it. Marion wrote it for her descendants, although I suspect he’s getting first-hand knowledge right now.”
I glanced toward the people I loved: Jace, Shae, and Shamus, who were back on the porch, picking up where we’d left off with vegetable prep, and Owen, who, sitting off to the side, seemed to be in a conversation with the sword—weird.
When I looked back at Charles for an explanation, his smile was gone and he was scowling at a stand of trees on the other side of the meadow.
“Stop skulking, Grant. Show yourself,” Charles shouted, and General Marcus Grant stepped forward from the shadows.