The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 01 - Elseerian (6 page)

Taryn managed a grimace. “Sorry about your head; I didn’t mean to kick you so hard.”

Before Edric could reply, Murai engulfed Taryn in a huge hug. “You were GREAT!!! I have never seen anything like it. I would
hate
to be up against you if you
didn’t
like me.”

Irela managed to grab his arm. “That was a nice finishing move; I didn’t even see it coming.”

Elsu clapped him on the back. “I knew I wouldn’t last long with my sword, but I hoped to last longer than
that
.” He said it in a tone of frustration, but with a huge smile.

A screaming person—who turned out to be Liri—smashed into him from the other side, almost knocking him over. “I can’t believe how good you were . . .” The rest of her words were cut off as the crowd pressed in on him.

Despite all the commotion and congratulations directed at him, all Taryn wanted to do was to get away. The emptiness he felt was so intense it ached, and only the thought of his parents enchanted blades gave him a glimpse of hope.

Wanting to make things go as fast as possible, he shrugged his way through the crowd and over to the students’ bench to get his bow for the longbow test. When he had finally made it through the throng to the deserted bench he hesitated. Did he want to use his old bow or his mother’s sword that could turn into a bow? After a moment’s thought he unstrapped his swords and reluctantly placed them behind the bench. He wanted to find out what his weapons could do by himself first, without anyone watching.

Bow and quiver in hand, he pressed through the celebrating group until he found Daiki. “Can we take care of the longbow test?”

Daiki nodded, smiling. “Sure, help me get some of the other teachers to settle the crowd.” Then he paused long enough to clap him on the back. “And by the way, that was most amazing Acabi I have ever seen.”

Taryn forced a smile and nodded before turning to quiet the mob of shouting people. It took several minutes to calm the jubilant crowd enough to go back to the benches, but everyone gradually started to clear out of the fighting area. Taryn and Liri stayed where they were and waited for Daiki to explain the procedure for the longbow tests. Taryn knew what to do, so he didn’t pay attention to the announcement.

The test involved firing fifteen arrows: five at the foot of the benches, about fifty paces away from the targets; five from behind the benches, about one hundred paces away; and the last five shots from on top of the rock face, hitting targets at over two hundred and fifty paces. Targets were generally shaped like animals, with some large ones like deer, and some small ones like squirrels or birds.

Both Liri’s test and his own passed quickly. He wasn’t surprised to see Liri hit all fifteen targets perfectly. When it came to Taryn’s turn, he performed well, even though he didn’t take his time. A few of the targets weren’t hit in the correct spot, but his mind wasn’t on the test. When they were finished Daiki announced they had both passed, but Taryn didn’t notice. Already gathering his gear and dodging well-wishers as politely as he could, he slipped out of the arena. The moment he was out of sight, he took off towards the tree line.

Chapter 3:
Discoveries

Taryn raced through the woods towards his cottage. Trees and houses blurred passed him, and before he knew it, he stood at the base of the mountain. Without hesitation, he reached for the sheer rock and began to climb. Two hundred feet straight up he flew, following the long familiar route. Every handhold was ingrained in his memory; every toehold could be reached without looking.

In a matter of moments he arrived at the top and pulled himself over onto a large ledge. Perfectly flat, the ledge ran back over a hundred feet before hitting another wall of stone. His climb had taken him to the center of a broad, stone shelf. To his left and right the ground tapered back until it disappeared into the mountain
.
Hardy trees, some as thick as a large man, were scattered along the ledge, somehow finding purchase in cracks or shallow soil.

He had discovered this place when he was eight, and it had become his refuge ever since. Countless hours of practicing had been spent at this spot, and the evidence of mock battles could be seen in every direction. Cuts and holes from his swords, arrows, and other types of weapons marked almost every tree. Older cuts had begun to knit while several new ones still had sap running from them. Scrapes and scratches marred smooth stone where he’d struck it. This had also been the spot where he’d first tried fighting with two katsanas—and perfected it.

Stepping to a tree about five feet from the edge, he turned and sat heavily, leaning his back against the knotted wood. Before him the entire island stretched away, disappearing into a glittering ocean in the distance. Dense foliage dominated the vista, only broken by the occasional chimney or large structure.

Taryn’s eyes gazed without seeing the view, his mind too deep in thought to notice. Tiral, the only student to die during the pirate attack, pulled quickly into the forefront of his thoughts, but as always, he shied away from the lancing memory. Latching instead onto his enchanted weapons, he drew his fathers’ sword.

Who were his parents to have weapons like these? And why had they not revealed their true nature before? Magical weapons throughout Lumineia were not uncommon, but Taryn sensed that these weapons were far more powerful than normal. For one thing, he’d never heard of a transforming weapon.

Remembering the flash of white light and the writing that had appeared, he turned his father’s sword over in his hands and peered at the writing. Faint silver writing stood out from the shining metal. In flowing script he could make out the word “Mazer.”  

What could that mean . .
.? The thought trailed off as the idea came to mind that Mazer could be his father’s name. In that moment the sword glimmered blue as if in answer to his thought and magic tingled up his arm. The more he thought about it, the more confident he became. There was no way he could explain
how
he knew it. He could just . . .
feel
it—so strongly it brought tears to his eyes.

He finally knew his father’s name! Grasping his mother’s sword, he eagerly drew it and laid it across his knees as well. “Ianna” was inscribed in the same faint silver writing. Closing his eyes, he leaned back and reveled in this tiny bit of information he had yearned for his entire life.

Relief and joy spread through him, warming him more than the afternoon sun. For several minutes the strong emotions overcame him, burning into his heart and searing into his mind—and then almost imperceptibly began to fade. Second by second the elation dissipated, left to be replaced with the haggard sadness of one who has caught a glimpse of what they desire most, only to watch it slip away.

What now?
The sobering thought whispered, sending a chill through his heart and chasing the last vestiges of relief away. His entire life he had wanted to return to the mainland of Lumineia to search out his heritage, learn where his family had come from, and why they had brought him to the island. The questions had burned within him from the moment he had understood that Murai was not really his uncle, and now that he knew his parents’ names, the prospect of returning felt all too real. For the first time he realized that knowing his parents names didn’t quench his desire to know more.

It fueled it.

Sighing at the elusive questions, he looked down at his parents’ swords, but the shimmering metal yielded no more answers. Deciding to momentarily set aside his concerns and see what the weapons were capable of, he rose to his feet and returned his father’s sword to its scabbard, focusing on his mothers’ weapon. Although his training had included little on magic, he knew enough to know that imbued weapons required something to activate. Perhaps he had to say words or incantations?

No, that wouldn’t be it. His parents had been warriors; of that he was certain. Warriors would want their weapons accessible, and the same should go for the magic contained within them.

Lifting his mother’s sword to eye level, he concentrated on the bow he had glimpsed before the battle in the arena. Before his eyes, the blade began to bend back on itself, while the hilt stretched downward and curved backward. At the same time, the metal faded and began to shape into burnished wood, its dark grain polished and smooth. As the arcing wood neared the end, a string of green light reached out from both ends and joined in the middle. A little taken aback at how easy it had been, Taryn hesitated and then examined it more closely.

The wood of the bow looked to be oak, which was odd, because most bows were made of yew or another kind of supple wood, oak being far too stiff. Intricate designs and runes were carved expertly along the entire length of the curved weapon. Upon closer inspection, he noticed what looked like faint veins of green light twined into the wood. At the end of the bow, the green light extended straight out of the wood to become the string. Reaching for the string, he half expected his hand to pass through it, but instead he found it to be as solid as steel.

Excitement rippled through him as he viewed the amazing weapon, and, seeing that a dark green arrow was already notched, he impulsively turned towards the mountain and drew the arrow to his ear. Smooth to draw, it wasn’t nearly as hard a pull as he'd imagined it would be, and he felt a tingle spread up his neck at the feeling. Taking aim at a tree that sat right against the rock, he loosened his fingers . . .

—With a snap the bow released its tension, and in an instant the arrow struck the tree, embedding itself so far that only the feathers remained in sight—and another arrow appeared to replace it.

Astonished at how fast the arrow had flown, Taryn leapt towards the impaled tree. When he got there, he was even more surprised to see that the arrow had gone all the way through the tree and penetrated the rock of the mountain itself! No bow he had ever seen could make an arrow sink into solid stone. His heart hammering, he returned to where he had shot the first arrow, took aim a few feet from the tree he had hit, and shot another arrow into the smooth cliff. While it quivered from the impact, Taryn raced across the ledge to find it similarly embedded halfway into the hard rock.

For twenty minutes Taryn shot arrows at various targets. Each arrow went exactly where he wanted it to go, and when he pulled the bow back as far as he could, the shafts embedded all the way to the feathers into solid rock or dense wood. After a few minutes he noticed the arrows he’d shot first had begun to fade away. Transforming the bow with a thought, he sheathed the blade and drew his father’s sword. Besides the writing, the weapon hadn’t changed, so what could it do? Recalling the glow along its edge, he remembered thinking it was becoming sharper.

Stepping close to a tree with a branch about as thick as his arm, he swept the sword to cut the branch. Yesterday he might have been able to cut the branch with the same sword, but today definitely felt different. The enchanted blade sliced right through the branch like it was a crisp stalk of celery. Turning to a branch as thick as his head, he cut through it just as easily. The sword glimmered dully blue as it cut the thicker wood. The same thing happened when he cut the wide trunk of a tree, except the sword flashed even brighter blue.

He smiled as the whole tree slid off the now angled stump and crashed to the ground. Glancing at a boulder nearby, he hesitated for a second before swinging the sword at the rock—and watching it cut right through!

As it sliced into the stone, the sword flared brilliant blue. So, Taryn mused, the harder the substance, the more magic necessary to cut it. The question was . . . how much magic did the blade contain and would it run out? He smiled as Murai’s words came to mind: “Always know the strengths
and
weaknesses of your weapons—and yourself.” Deciding it was better to know the limits of his weapons before a battle, and not during, he methodically began to make cuts in the mountain with his father’s sword. Each time, it would flash bright blue, but after the twelfth time the weapon only went partway through the cut before stopping as the blue fire extinguished.

The magic had lasted a lot longer than he had expected, and he nodded to himself as he made a mental note of its magical limits. Setting aside his father’s sword, he drew his mother’s weapon and changed it to the bow. As fast as he could, he drew back the arrows and fired them at the mountain. One after the other they sunk into solid rock. After the fiftieth streaked into place, no arrow appeared, so he began to count. It took thirty seconds for the first arrow he’d shot to disappear from the rock and reappear on the bow. Every five to ten seconds, the other arrows also vanished.

He forced himself to wait until all the arrows had disappeared and then began to shoot again, but this time shot only forty-nine arrows. He carefully counted fifteen seconds before the first one he’d shot faded away.
OK,
he thought,
if I exhaust the magic, it takes longer to replenish.
Turning the bow back into a sword, he sheathed the weapon.

Taryn picked up his father’s sword and repeated the earlier exercise of cutting into the mountain. The sword cut only eight times before giving out. It had only been two or three minutes since he had made the first cuts in the rock, so it was reassuring to know the magic of his fathers’ sword came back quickly even when it was exhausted. He breathed a sigh of relief; he’d half expected the magic to be gone forever.

With some practice and a little more experimentation it became apparent that he could make Mazer (in that moment he decided he would call his swords by the names on them) cut through almost anything, or
not
cut through objects if he didn’t want to.
Good,
he thought,
I won’t accidentally cut one of my friends’ swords in half while we’re sparring.

His examinations complete, Taryn began to go through routines with his new swords. Linked more than ever, they responded to the slightest movements as if they were just another muscle in his body. Increasing the tempo and difficulty only made the weapons feel more and more connected to his thoughts and will. After thirty minutes he was using the hardest and most complicated techniques he knew without the slightest hesitation. Slipping in between the trees like a gust of wind, he bent and coiled, swinging both swords out to nick trees and rocks alike. In the middle of a combo he shifted his mother’s sword, sheathed his father’s sword, fired an arrow at the rock wall, and without missing a step changed Ianna back for the next block.