Sword Bearer (Return of the Dragons 1)

“But the blade longs to burn,” I said. “And be replaced with wizard’s steel. Here. Let the burning begin.”

Cullen nodded, and then he did the strangest thing. He took out a pair of cups, round and shiny with a bar between them, which went over his ears. Then he put on a kind of helmet, which covered his eyes with dark brown glass. Cullen took my sword, and plunged in into the fire, on top of the red hot metal blade.

There was a blinding flash.

I thought I was going mad: music surged up, louder and louder, and it was as if there were two different songs, playing at once. My blood joined in. Three songs blended together, the three songs of the blade made one: the song of the wooden blade, the song of its hilt, and the song of my blood.

As the music grew louder, I thought my ears would burst. The sound seemed to come from everywhere: from my own body, from the blade, from the magical stone that surrounded us. Kara and Kalle covered their ears, while others fell to their knees.

The light was not white, but multicolored, and so dazzling that my two normal eyes were overwhelmed.

So I closed them. The light was still dazzling, but my third, lidless eye would not blink. Now I could make sense of the scene unfolding before me. I brought my hands up to my ears, and then I could hear the songs clearly, and distinguish them one from another.

I quickly found that as long as I pressed my hands to my ears the sound was clear inside my head. If I took them off, though, it was overwhelming.

My eyes closed, I looked around me and found the smith. He was a clean blue outline of fire, holding golden tongs. In the tongs’ grip was a sword, made up of three different colors. There was the gold of the Kriek; blue, from the old city in which we stood; and green, the color of the sea people.

Below the steel the wooden blade burned crimson in the wizard fire. The hilt’s colors pulsed so rapidly that I could see no dominant one: blue, green, golden, red, crimson. I knew that the hilt was master of them all, that whoever mastered this sword was master of a great kingdom, or would be. For everything in the world was in this sword’s pommel, and many of the world’s peoples, the three royal bloodlines, were in its blade.

The songs grew louder, and even with my ears covered I felt pain. I knew there was something I must do, then, but I was afraid to do it, and afraid too, that if I made the slightest mistake, everything would go wrong. That would be the end of me, and the world would have one less sixteen year old prince.

What would happen after would not be my problem, but I had a feeling it would be ugly.

I couldn’t live in fear, though. I had to accept my destiny. At least that’s what I told myself.

I let my hands fall from my ears and opened my eyes.

All hell broke loose. The song blasted into me. The pain was overwhelming. My vision was a white blur; my hearing screeching pain. Would I every see or hear again?

My mouth opened then and I sang. Suddenly the song around me blended. It was loud, but the volume didn’t bother me any more.

The song pulled energy from the burning wood, from the three parts of the metal blade, from the pommel, from the very air around me. But it was my song now, and everything that entered my ears broken and separate poured out of my mouth whole and joined.

I moved forward as the song pulled me to the sword. The heat of the furnace singed my hair. My voice reached out into the blade, and there was a flash.

The song was over.

The sword was whole.

I didn’t need to look at it with my third eye. I heard its song with my ears — blended, harmonious, pure.

I stepped back, and Cullen whistled, taking off his ear cuffs and helmet.

“Never in my life have I seen or heard such a thing, never in my life shall I hear or see such a thing again.”

Cullen pulled out the sword and we stared at it. The blade was shiny. I could see my image reflected upon it — bad skin, singed hair and all. Even though I was exhausted and even hungrier than before, I smiled.

I looked around and saw Kalle and Kara smiling as well.

They were standing close together, I noticed, and there was something odd about their posture. It took me a moment to realize what it was.

They were holding hands.

Kara met my gaze, and she nodded.

I felt like such an idiot. How could I have missed it?

Cullen looked at me. “The blade must be struck one last time. Will you strike it, Anders son of Tomas?”