The Knife's Edge (13 page)

“Enough!” he shouted at last, throwing out a hand, then more calmly, “Just… stay there.”

She looked up, dropping the skirt. “I’m not armed, Kirin,” she said. “And you should know I would never hurt you.”

The simple name struck a chord. “Why do you keep calling me that? That’s not my name.”

“I see. What do you call yourself now then?”

“My name is Gray.”

“Interesting.” Again, she said the words as if he were playing a game. It was infuriating.

“And yours?” he asked.

“Vera,” she replied. “As always.”

He shrugged. “Sorry, it doesn’t ring any bells. Your face is familiar, that much I’ll admit.”

“If my face is familiar, I’m curious why your eyes are spending so much time on the rest of me.”

“What do you want?” he asked, changing the subject and raising his sword.

Vera took a step forward, slowly, assuredly, and then another. “To talk,” she said. He followed the fluid sway of her hips. She took another step, and the tip of his sword pressed against her pale throat. A pinpoint of blood formed. He hesitated and Vera pressed the sword away. “See? That’s not so bad.”

“Who are you?”

“Who are you is the better question?” Vera said. “What happened to your memory?”

“I… I lost it.”

“Curious… I wonder how… I suppose you don’t remember that as well?”

He shook his head. “Only bits and pieces. It happened several years ago.”

“I see,” Vera said. “Well then, I’m a friend of yours from another life. We were very close in fact.” Truth rang in her voice. She knew about him.

“How close?”

She smiled with a light in her eyes. “Very.”

He swallowed. “You’ve still yet to prove anything. Do not think I’ll trust you blindly. I’ve lost my memories, not my mind.”

She laughed and it stirred his blood. “Kirin’s fire still burns within you it seems.” She approached and snatched his wrist, too fast for him to react. But he didn’t retract. Instead, he watched as she twisted his hand in her cold fingers and pulled back his sleeve to expose his black marking. She grabbed her own sleeve and pulled it back. A black insignia was scrawled across her wrist. It was the same mark. “Do you trust me now?” she asked.

A vision filled his mind. A woman stood in a courtyard of green and he stood beside her while others trained. The woman turned to look at him. It was her. “I remember,” he whispered and gripped her arm. “Why are you here? This place is not safe.”

“That’s sweet, Kirin, but I’m afraid you’re the one in need of saving. Surely you know what tracks you.” She scanned his little camp, his makeshift fire, its flames now sputtering, and his pack. “He was here, not long ago, wasn’t he?” A sudden fire lit her voice, and the sputtering flames roared.

“Who?”

Vera turned on him, eyes venomous. “Don’t play with me, Kirin.” She snatched his shirt with surprising strength. The fire snapped and popped and her eyes burned, reflecting its intensity. “Tell me,” she seethed, “he was here wasn’t he?”

Gray pushed away. “He was, but he’s gone now. Long gone.”

“I’m sorry,” she said breathless. “I shouldn’t have done that. I…” she looked up and pain roiled in her eyes. Such pain… he wanted suddenly to hold her. He settled for taking her arm and helping her to sit on a nearby rock. Still, he kept his distance. “You see,” she began, “He has taken much from me. From all of us, and though I know I cannot face him myself, I would give everything I have to see him pay for what he has done.”

“What has he done? Who is he?” Gray questioned.

“Kail,” she whispered. Gray’s mouth went dry. “So you know who he is?”

“Yes.”

“He has many names,” she said, eyeing the woods. “The blight-seeker, the cursed one, but of course most commonly… the wanderer, not to mention, the rightful bearer of Morrowil, the sword you now hold. Of course some say he lost his mind when a loved one died, or that his power grew too much to handle, or that the bloodshed of the Lieon took its toll. But the real truth is that the blade in your hand is the grand sword, an object of horrible power that tainted him. It is the reason he is now mad. That blade is the destroyer of men, and it will destroy you too.”

Gray looked down at the blade, torn between sheathing it and keeping it close at hand. “You still haven’t answered what you are doing here.”

“It’s a long story,” she said.

“I have time.”

She rose and circled him as she spoke. “Once I heard you’d left the Citadel and crossed Death’s Gate I couldn’t believe it. I was hurt, but I needed to know what happened. I talked to the guards at the gates and a few gave accounts of a man bearing your description, and carrying a strange sword. That very night, as I was walking back to the Citadel, an attempt was made on my life. I survived, but the next day I found that the guards I’d talked to had been killed.” She breathed a heavy sigh. Gray felt her breath at the nape of his neck. “Naturally, I knew I needed to find out more about that sword. Researching in the old libraries was purely forbidden, but I had to know. And that’s when I found out it was Kail’s. He killed all those who saw the blade. He needs it to fulfill the Return and destroy the world as he tried to do long ago.” She paused, her face a breath away from his. “Don’t you see? As long as you hold that blade, you won’t be safe. I… I don’t want to even imagine what he would do to the bearer of his sword. I knew he would hunt you down, and that’s why I had to find you first.”

Gray nodded slowly, it all made sense. My past… he thought, pulse racing. Vera slowly ran a finger down his arm towards his sword. His eyes focused on her hand. But one thing didn’t make sense. “He already did find me. You said he would kill me as soon as he saw me. He didn’t.”

“I was going to ask that myself. How did you survive?”

“He warned me and then left. There was nothing more to it. Your story doesn’t add up, Vera.”

Vera sighed as if he were daft. “Is that so? Well, I guess all men need to be told where to put their feet on occasion in order to stop them from tripping over themselves. Answer me this, when he came to you, did he grab the sword?”

“Yes,” said Gray. “But he gave it back.”

“And when he grabbed it, did it cause him pain?”

“It did,” he answered slower, curious.

“You see? He cannot simply kill you and take the sword.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is in the prophecy, Kirin,” she said. “Once the sword chooses a new bearer, the old owner must wait for the sword to ascend, but once the sword turns, any can bind their soul to its purpose. Until that time, all but the true bearer will be pained by its touch,” she explained. “In this phase, Kail cannot wield it. Instead, he waits for you to turn the blade before he can grasp it once again.”

Suddenly something rustled in the brush. The woods abruptly darkened. The fire sputtered dying in a rush.

“They’re coming,” she said.

“Who’s coming?”

“Those who follow Kail, the ones I came to protect you from. This is not something you can face alone,” she said. “There are so many…”

“The town of Lakewood is not far,” he said, “You should run now.”

“You don’t understand!”

“I’m not leaving you,” he answered, when a sliver of darkness crept along the blade. Master the sword, the words echoed in his head.

“Damn you and your stubborn pride,” she cursed. “You haven’t changed at all. So be it. Together, then.” Strange pink light filled her palms. She tilted back her head, as if letting the power consume her. Faint veins in her neck glowed green. She stood beside him, facing the woods. “Last chance,” she offered.

“Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.” Gray watched as a darkness slunk along the ground, nearing until it was almost upon them. It reached for his boot. He stepped back quickly, but before he could, the darkness shrieked. He looked to his sword in surprise. The darkness is afraid of the blade’s light, he realized. The blade roared, as if in response, its silver luminescence pushing back the darkness. He looked at Vera. The darkness avoided her all together.

It moved away, crawling up the trees, and it turned the leaves to black ash with a sizzling hiss. Gray swallowed hard. Vera’s eyes didn’t even flicker.

Vergs stepped out of the woods, and saeroks stalked behind. Just like the stories, they were covered in sparse fur and loped on all fours. They rose onto two legs, standing twice as tall as him. Thick-hided monstrous vergs, their steps rattling the earth, lurched out of the woods, a steady stream. They were completely surrounded. Abruptly, the vergs laughed. Saeroks echoed their nightmarish brethren, and the sound blended together in a blood-chilling chorus. Gray saw an opening, and charged with a cry. Words flared before his mind and power filled his limbs. Quenching the Fire.

He cut into a saerok, severing claws as it attempted to parry his mighty blow. The blade cut with liquid ease. The saerok cried out, and its jaws flared wide. A roar like fired sounded, and a seething ball of black hurtled over his shoulder. It smashed into the creature before him, tearing it apart.

Gray saw Vera in the corner of his vision as a verg swiped at him. Fear fueled his limbs, and he rolled between its legs hacking left and right. It howled in pain. A saerok appeared before him, lashing out. Its swipe caught his shoulder and he rolled aside. Gray lost himself in the movements. A voice whispered. Trimming the Stalks, meets Wind Dances in the Reeds, flowing into Tempest Fury. Vera fought by his side. Beasts fell before her fiery black bolts, even quicker than his sword. What was more, he could swear in his flickering glances that the beasts looked shocked as she cut them down—it seemed the only reason they weren’t dead. Gray dove beneath a strike when a cry sounded beside him.

Vera.

She clutched her chest. The menacing dark power that surrounded her quickly dimmed. Saeroks and vergs descended upon her.

He shouted and ran towards her.

“No!” she cried, thrusting out a hand, “Run, Gray! Run you fool!”

The words sounded all too familiar. Gray stopped, paralyzed by the words. No! Not again! He dashed towards Vera, heedless of the corpses that littered the ground.

A saerok jumped before him, blocking his way, and he cut, but the beast grabbed for his sword in one powerful hand. Gray pulled with all his might, slicing its hand. The creature cried out, but two more saeroks joined it, falling in at its side. There are too many. It was the voice of a warrior who knew an unwinnable battle.

“Run,” a saerok said mockingly as blood poured from its wound. Other saeroks and vergs were still coming out of the woods. They approached in a slow, ominous death-stalk. Gray cursed loudly, his mind filled with rage.

Finally he turned, and tore through the woods. He heard the breath of saeroks on his heels and the crash of brush behind him, and he ran faster. He dared not look back as he jumped over root and vine, tearing heedlessly through the shrouded forest.

At last, he glimpsed a light like a beacon through the trees.

Lakewood.

A Festival

T
HE LIGHT OF THE TOWN WAS
lurid in Gray’s vision as he ran, nearing the stone gate. Exhausted, he fell to his knees. “Someone help!” he bellowed and pounded on the gate.

He glanced over his shoulder, flinching, expecting to see beasts hurtling out of the night and across the stretch of earth—but there was nothing. The creatures that had been scraping on his heels were nowhere to be seen. He paused, as his breath came quick and hard. Suddenly, he heard sounds and lights danced, bobbing up and down upon the rampart. In the center of the door, a slot scraped open. A helmeted eye peered out. “Quick, I need help! Someone’s hurt!” The slot slammed shut. His fists clenched and he shouted, “What’s wrong with you? Why will you not help?”

Suddenly from behind, he heard the clop of hooves on the soft dirt. He twisted, half expecting to see the monsters. Instead, he saw an orange light in the darkness. He hid behind a nearby rock as the light approached, resolving itself into a cart. A skinny man, wearing the simple garb of a merchant sat in the driver’s seat. Who else would attempt to enter at this time of night? Gray wondered. The cart rolled closer and he saw it was full of hay. The merchant stopped before the door. The slot slid open again.

“Who is it?” a voice called.

“It’s me, open the door!” the merchant ordered.

“Show me the sign!”

The merchant grumbled and pulled back his sleeve, exposing his forearm, showing the guard something Gray couldn’t see. This was his chance. Gray slid from his hiding place. He dashed towards the cart, staying low and quiet. The merchant’s back was still turned and he dove into the mountain of hay, wriggling and burying himself deep. There was a scraping sound. The gate slid open. Through the hay and the wooden slats of the cart, he saw a soldier in leather and mail approach.

“Did you see a young man?” the guard questioned gruffly.

“Man? I saw no one,” the merchant replied. “What are you talking about?”

Gray was right below the merchant’s seat and could hear the man’s wheezing breaths. Moist straw pricked his flesh all over, and sweat trickled down his brow as he waited for the two to speak again. What were they doing?