Sorrow's Song

Sorrow

Sorrow was forbidden.


It had been ever since one of his lord father’s servants had nearly died from brushing it with a finger as she cleaned. Rueben had been very young that night. His father had forbidden anyone to even speak of it. Deep in the heart of the earth he had it sealed away, leaving it to rest with the spirits of dead kings and noble knights.


Rueben could feel its call. He heard it beckon him in his dreams and felt it fuel his nightmares. It came through the earth, waking him in the dead of night. For longer than he could remember, he heard oaths of glory in his head. Saw promises of health in his sleep.


The plague that was consuming him, slowly killing him, would be gone. It swore this to him. 


Just come and find me.


The catacombs were a dark place, hidden from light for longer than his people could remember. They were buried underneath his father’s castle, and it was whispered that ghosts and ghouls lived down there, devouring any who were foolish enough to venture down into their lair. Rueben hadn’t believed any of it, but he had made his friend Simon accompany him down into the dark all the same.


“We shouldn’t be here,” he said now, uneasiness edging his voice. “This isn’t allowed. Plus, I have chores that need doing.”


Simon was shorter than Rueben. He was one of his father’s stable boys, and didn’t like getting into trouble. Rueben was more than happy to supply him with it.


“Won’t be gone long,” Rueben assured him. “We’ll be back before anyone even notices we’re gone.”


Rueben had needed to stop and rest many times as they continued their downward journey into the earth. His breath came in short pants, chest heaving. He thought about the disease that was plaguing his body, and how his father’s physicians and priests had told him Rueben wouldn’t live past his third summer. This was his fifteenth.


Eventually, after what seemed hours of resting and climbing, they came to the bottom of the hole. His torch shone brightly, and they made their way through the narrow tunnel.


Beads of water formed along the ancient stone walls of the alcove, dripping down into the dirt and stone that had been laid into the foundation. The light from the torch reflected off them, giving them the appearance of the spring time glow bugs that his younger brother was so fond of.


They rounded a corner, feeling the air begin to grow cooler as they continued. Just ahead, Rueben saw a small chamber that was alight with a blue glow.


“What is that?” asked Simon. His voice quivered in the darkness. Rueben didn’t answer him, just continued moving forward until he was standing just outside the alcove. Sorrow lay on a massive stone slab just ahead, calling out to him.


“Wait here,” Rueben instructed his friend. He handed him the flickering torch and edged forward into the room, shivering violently as he drew closer to the beautiful sword that lay in wait.


The blade emitted a dim bluish hue that lit up the room. Rueben stared at, chest constricting with each beat of his heart. Another coughing spasm took hold of him, forcing him to double over in pain and wait for it to subside. The cold bit at his throat, choking him as he gulped it down in ragged gasps.


Water along the walls had frozen, with it the friendly glow bugs. It lined the walls, forming a mirror of ice about room. Rueben felt it enveloping him, his very soul giving way to the immense cold that seemed to come from the magnificent sword before him.


The flames from his torch began to wither, and his friend called out to him. “Are you alright?” he asked. “The torch is dying. Let’s get out of here.”They grew smaller until they flickered out and melted away, turning to nothing more than wisps of smoke that curled up into the air until they too, vanished. Rueben didn’t mind, he was mesmerized by the radiance that seemed to pour out from the sword.


Mustn’t touch, it murmured. Or father will be very displeased.


Rueben took another step forward, standing directly in front of the sword. The blue glow seemed to intensify as he stepped closer, and he reached a hand out to grasp it.


When Rueben wrapped his fingers around the grip, he could feel the secret strength of the weapon begin to flow through him. He lifted it, swinging it through the air, striking at imaginary foes and invisible monsters. The longer he held it, the stronger he felt, and his breathing no longer came in burning rasps. Rueben felt alive.


He lost track of time as he played with the sword. What seemed minutes could have been hours. The energy from the sword continued to seep into him. Rueben could feel it pouring into his veins, revitalizing his lifeblood. He knew what would happen when he set it down, left the chamber and climbed back up into the light of day. The affliction in his lungs would come back, ravage his insides, kill him. Down in the cold, with Sorrow in hand, he felt more alive than he ever had up above, with the light and the warmth it freely offered.


“You’ve had your fun,” said Simon. “Now let’s go.”


“Just another minute,” said Rueben, who was studying the runes that had been carved into the side of the greatsword. They ran up and down the length of it, whispering secrets no one could hear but him. Rueben didn’t understand them, but knew one day he would. The weapon was surprisingly light for its great size. He knew a regular sword of the same size would require great strength to lift, and greater yet to wield in combat.


A quick feeling of panic welled up when he heard his friend shriek; he looked down and saw that the veins in his arm had begun to glow a soft blue. He threw the sword to the ground and peered at his arm. It slowly faded, and with it, the strength he had felt. The greatsword lay on the stone floor, accusing him.


Coward.


The voice was cold, and had lost its sing-song tone. Rueben couldn’t tell if the echo was in the chamber or in his mind. Coward. Coward. Coward. He stared, unsure. Simon didn’t seem to hear it. His arm had returned to normal, and he could feel the weakness in his body quickly returning. With a swallow, he leaned down and picked up the blade.


“What are you doing?” asked Simon, his voice escalating. “Didn’t you see what happened? We need to get out of here!”


Rueben ignored him and this time when his arm began to turn, he held fast and squeezed his grip tighter for fear of losing it again.


As the essence of Sorrow flowed into him, he could feel his own flowing into the sword. He felt weaker and stronger at the same time.


“Rueben, stop!”


Simon’s voice grated in his ears, agitating him. Rueben tried to put the sword down but his fingers were frozen, wrapped around the hilt. He tried to peel them off with his other hand, and as he did his panic began to dissolve into a fury that was not his own. It escalated quickly, blinding him with senseless rage, and he swung viciously at the walls of the chamber, shattering both stone and ice in his attempt to rid himself of the weapon.


His mind was a blank and void of everything but the sword that seemed to be laughing at him. It only made him angrier. When Simon spoke again, he turned and saw a terrible beast, a monster about to attack him. He lifted the sword and pointed it at the monster, speaking in a voice he didn’t recognize.


“This world will burn.”


The beast hesitated, uneasiness in its eyes. Rueben took hold of the sword with both hands, moving with an agility and grace foreign to him, and plunged the blade into the fiend’s chest, killing it instantly.


The rage subsided rapidly, and Rueben stared in shock at his dead friend, the cold dirt drinking his blood as it seeped out of him. Hands shaking, he dropped the sword as another coughing fit assaulted him. His dead friend stared up at him, his lifeless eyes accusing Rueben. His chest was burning as the greatsword laughed at him, playing with him. You are mine, it said.


You are mine.