Blade of Power

What can she do when her sword carries stories sharper than the blade?

I ducked to the left, avoiding the tip of Raul's slender fencing blade by an inch. With a swift cat-like twirl, I slid forward, clinking my foil against his. He turned his wrist and edged to the right. Spotting an advantage, I pressed him to the wall. He scowled and lunged towards me. I sidestepped. The force of his thrust landed him facedown on the smooth wooden floor.

I tapped the point of my foil on his helmet.

“Touche.”

“Indeed,” he grumbled, pulling himself to his feet, “you're improving, Melanie. Perhaps one day you can wield the Blade of Power.”

“I am the queen.” I drew myself up confidently. “It is my right to hold that Blade.”

“Until you come of age, I'm in charge,” he reminded me. “The Blade takes a heavy toll on those who wield it. Can a lady bear such emotional turmoil?”

“Have you ever seen me cry?”

“Only at the passing of your father the king. But Melanie—”

“She can handle it.”

It was Silas who spoke, coming in behind us with a newly polished weapon to put away. He was my trainer under Raul. They nodded in greeting.

“Of course I can,” I said. “I was born for this.”

We stood together, staring at the glass case in one corner of the training room. Underneath lay an ancient, gleaming sword. It contained a magnetism absorbing the emotions and stories of every fight it had ever been in. Legendary warriors had drawn their strength and gleaned untold secrets from it, had poured their own feelings and new lessons into it, until it was the most prized possession of our land.

Day after day I practiced my swordfighting techniques, becoming more adept, flexible and swifter on my feet. Silas tracked every move I made, offering suggestions, keeping up with my progress and challenging me to be ever stronger and more alert. Always, Raul watched, testing and occasionally outdoing me in matches of wit and skill. My coronation day drew near.

One night, a runner arrived from an outlying farm.

“Raiders are burning down our village. You must come help!”

Raul strode to the glass case, shattered it with the hilt of his sword, and removed the Blade of Power. Reverently he presented it to me.

“Now is your time, Melanie. Use it well.”

I held it gingerly at first, testing its weight. I tried to sense if it had anything to tell me, but it was silent.

“I don't get it,” I said as we walked to the stables to gather a group of warriors. “Shouldn't the Blade be giving me knowledge?”

“It will come when you need it,” he responded.

I didn't see Silas anywhere. I wanted him to be present when I used the Blade for the first time.

I led our brigade out to where a village crumbled in flames. A line of armored men blocked our path. I expected our men to engage. Instead, one by one, they silently joined the ranks of bandits, until Raul and I were mounted alone, surrounded. I spun my horse to face him.

“What is this?”

“I've gathered an uprising.” His jaw set firm, eyes narrow as he sized me up once again. “These men are mine. The Blade of Power belongs to the one who knows how to use it. Now, we duel. It is a fair fight. You wanted the Blade. See if you can keep it.”

Sharp, acrid billows of smoke stung my nose. Tree shadows loomed, wavering in the fire's glow that flickered across rebel armor.

“You filthy traitor.”

Blood rushed heatedly through my veins as I dismounted, drawing the Blade from its scabbard. Raul landed and drew his own sword. Our blades touched. A blinding, fiery red spark leaped out of the contact. My Blade screamed as if in pain, reverberating through my head.

Ghostly figures encircled me. I recognized my grandfather, the former king, swinging the Blade to execute a chained figure. The man whose head he lopped off was his own brother, heir to the throne. His cold-hearted greed swept over me, leaving me breathless and nauseated.

“No!” I cried, stumbling back.

More scenes of treachery and barbarism rose from the shadows: my ancestors rampaging through the land I soon would rule, women and children being murdered ruthlessly by the Blade. It still screamed, a high keening wail piercing my bones. Its silver glowed hot, bloody, lava red. Everything within me pleaded to drop it, to throw aside this Blade of Power and surrender the throne that was not rightfully mine at all. My heartbeat throbbed in my ears.

“I warned you,” Raul whispered, leaning forward, breaking through the mirages surrounding me. “The Blade is wicked. This land was won in savagery. Now you know.”

I pulled away from him, still clinging to the Blade as waves of grief, anger, agony, and visions of the raw, brutal seizure of power tore through me. How could I bear to be a part of this monstrous reality? Weakening under the relentless bombardment of my senses, I fell to my knees. Still I gripped the Blade’s hilt, though by now it physically burned my hands.

Raul came down in front of me, leaning in, eyes fixed on mine.

“Let go of it,” he snarled. “Pass it to the one who can use it to restore justice to the land.”

“Never!”

The word fell from my mouth even as I considered doing as he bid me. I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out the torturous, gruesome visions. The Blade vibrated in my hands. Speak to me, I commanded it. Show me one man who used your Power for good! Please – there has to be someone! The glow under my burning eyelids shifted from blood red down to cool green. I reopened my eyes, looking past Raul into the circle of ghosts.

A young boy appeared: my father, the King. He watched as my grandfather's raiders attacked his village, plundering it and using the Blade to eliminate everyone who tried to escape. Then, left a wandering orphan, he was adopted by my childless grandmother, the former queen. He was a victim of the Blade, not a perpetrator. Standing solemnly in front of the glass case as a teenager, he swore to himself he would use it for good or not at all.

The hilt I was gripping cooled as I watched him save a maiden who had been delivered to feed a dragon. He rebuilt villages from wood hacked by the Blade. He even cut up meat with it to feed starving orphans. Finally, he sealed it away, ruling the country he'd been given with peace and justice. This, then, was my inheritance.

I drove the point of the Blade into the dirt, pulling myself upright as my father's courage and determination filled my heart. Freeing the Blade, I tapped Raul's helmet with it.

“You wanted a duel? I'm not giving up my father's weapon or his kingdom without a fight.”

He stood, face a mask of ice.

“What duel? You are outnumbered.”

“Oh, so now it's a kidnapping? Hardly a fair fight.”

The Blade was sobbing now, a soft weeping for those it had wrongly killed. The visionary ghosts had scattered, all except my father, who stood by me. I glanced around at the impassive faces of the men. One, I recognized: Silas. He, too? I locked eyes with him, a world of significance between us.

“Are you with Raul? Or are you with me? You knew my father. You must know he was not of their blood, not a man of treachery. Pick your side.”

He lowered his eyes, chin trembling. Looking up, his gaze moved between me and the Blade for a long, silent moment. He lifted his chin and stepped forward, breaking rank with the men. He faced Raul.

“You and I trained this warrior. Now you fight her fair and square, as you said you would. Unless you'd rather take it up with me.” His hand went to the sword at his side.

Raul scowled at him. He swung to me, feet spurting up clouds of dust. Our swords touched. This time, the Blade gave off a triumphant shout. I swung and dodged and cut in and out with all the grace of a gazelle, the Blade singing encouragement to me.

Raul pressed in. I held my ground. He lunged. I spun sideways. He stumbled, regaining his footing, losing seconds. I pushed forward. He thrust at me. I twirled away and swung wide, cracking the Blade across the neck of his armor with a resounding clang and a flash of blue lightning. The blow sent him fumbling to the left. I leaned into his instability with another contact that brought him to his knees.

I tapped his helmet once more. The Blade let out a sigh as a crackle of white light flickered, briefly illuminating the trees around us.

“Touche.”

He removed his helmet and laid it on the ground. He stared up at me, resigned and weary.

“What punishment awaits me, your Majesty?”

I looked around at the men, who all slowly removed their helmets, set aside their weapons and came down on one knee. I looked at Silas, eyebrows raised. He shook his head ever so slightly, mouthing,

“Your decision.”

I gazed again at Raul, a broken man. His many years of guardianship of me, of my country… Was it all for nothing? Could we not work together? The Blade whispered “yes.”

“You are misguided. I will not reinstate a cycle of violence by executing you, though you deserve it. Come, let us rebuild this burned village. When we're done, we can discuss things at the castle.”

Tears welled up. He hid his face.

“You are a worthy queen, Melanie.”

I slipped the Blade into its scabbard and held out a hand to lift him up. We stood shoulder to shoulder. The men cheered. My heart swelled with new maturity. The stories of tragedy were in the past. I would honor my father's legacy by carving a just and merciful future with the Blade we'd redeemed.

Words: 1685.
Written for "The Fortnight Ink Clash" 
Prompt ▼

You inherit an ancient sword that stores the emotions of every battle it’s ever fought. When you wield it, the anger, sorrow, and triumph of forgotten warriors hit you like a tidal wave. Worse—someone else wants the blade, and they know exactly how to manipulate the stories trapped inside it.