The Knife's Edge (53 page)

Darius grumbled.

Mura spoke with a laugh, “You three will serve each other well. Watch over one another—there is nothing more treasured than the bond of friendship. However, if you don’t mind, I must speak with Gray alone.” Ayva embraced Gray wordlessly, then grabbed Darius and pulled him a short distance away.

“They care for you,” Mura said.

“And I for them,” he admitted.

“Well, maybe you’re not the stubborn fool I once knew.”

In that moment he wanted to tell his friend a hundred different things. Now that they were parting ways he didn’t want to lose Mura.

“Things will be hard on the journey to Farbs,” Mura said, cutting to the chase.

“I know. I’m ready for it.”

“Almost,” said Mura and he grabbed an object that had been resting behind the tree. “I believe you’ll be needing this.” In the man’s palms rested the most elegant scabbard Gray had ever seen worked with silver leaves. “Take it,” Mura said.

Gray ran his hands across the intricate silver work. “Where did you get this?”

“One of the elves discovered it in a chest at Death’s Gate. Once you used the blade at the altar, the chest unlocked, as if it was triggered to do so at that very moment.”

“It seems there are still mysteries to be solved,” he whispered, and twisted the scabbard in his hands. “What blade is this?” he asked.

“See for yourself,” Mura said.

With a sharp pull, he unsheathed it. Morrowil blazed pure gold in the light of the sun. Thoughts of Vera flashed through him, but he silenced them. “The handle, I thought it shattered?”

“It did. The elves remade it,” Mura said.

Gray marveled at the blade and its new hilt, his fingers gripped the bone-white handle. It was smooth as polished marble, but its grip was surprising. “A scabbard befitting the grandeur of the blade,” he said at last. He slung Morrowil over his shoulder on top of his faded cloak. Mura handed him his satchel as well and he put it on over the blade. “Mura, on the gate…” he paused. “There was a darkness inside me. I wanted it more than air. I know, even now, a part of me was connected to her.”

“Her?” Mura questioned.

“Vera,” he replied. “She was the one I met in the woods on the border of Lakewood.” He swallowed the added truth.

Mura’s eyes tightened. “Then I guess she was the one we found on the top of the gates,” he said sorrowfully.

Gray looked away. He didn’t need to say what had happened. “She turned out to be more than she said she was,” he answered.

“How did you know her?” Mura asked.

“We held something in common,” he said. How could he tell the hermit that the woman he had killed was his sister? Kail may have dealt the final blow, he admitted, but in his heart, he knew it was he that had put an end to her. And while he had made the right decision, he had still nearly betrayed the world. He couldn’t deny that a part of him wanted to stand at his sister’s malevolent side, and loose the limits of his power. He shivered in disgust at the memory, wanting to accuse the sword for that dark moment. But he couldn’t. For after turning the blade golden upon the Gates, he now realized a truth about the sword… Morrowil was not evil. Though it was not entirely good either. Instead, the blade pulled upon tendencies within the owner, manifesting them into life. Thus, even the smallest shred of darkness could spell disaster. However, if the sword could manifest evil, he believed, or perhaps hoped, it could also manifest good. For how else could Kail fight the evil of the Kage for so long? Either way, he would have to be aware of his intentions, good or evil, from now on and be careful of that fact. Though if the sword was merely an extension of its owner, then Morrowil was not at fault. In the end, he had nearly fallen from the knife’s edge, dooming the world, and he had only himself to blame.

“Lad,” Mura said, breaking him from his thoughts. “You look pale as the grave—are you all right? What is on your mind?”

“Vera had a darkness, Mura, and I’m afraid I have it too. I know it lurks inside me.”

“A darker side is within us all, my boy. I, myself, felt the darkness call my name within the Sodden Tunnels.” A shadow passed across Mura’s face, but then the hermit shook his head, “But here I am. The very fact that we do fear it is what makes you and me different than Vera. You made a choice upon the Gate. Though you may have desired ill, your actions and your true heart spoke clearly.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Mura touched his shoulder. “You must live in the present now, lad. You have much to live for.” He tried to find words as he stared into the hermit’s eyes and his throat tightened. Mura’s eyes glazed with the same sentiment. “We will meet again soon.” The way Mura said it told him there was no doubt.

“Until then,” he said. “Watch over yourself, all right?”

Mura laughed, “It’s you I worry for. Who’s going to feed you while I’m gone? I think I should have brought a loaf of bread instead of a sword,” he said. “Take care, my boy. I trust you’ll find the answers you seek. But remember, finding peace with the answer is often the greatest challenge.”

Gray embraced the hermit and after a long moment, Mura released him. With a final nod, they parted. Ayva and Darius waited for him. They seemed to be bickering good-naturedly. As he approached they turned to him. Darius whistled through his teeth, “Nice scabbard.”

He almost forgot about the blade. It was a part of him now, the sword and his future. He took it off and showed it to them. Ayva’s eyes went wide, and her hand ran across its silver inlaid surface. “It looks as if it were made for a king.”

“Did you steal it?” Darius asked.

Ayva smacked his shoulder and the rogue winced.

“An elf found it,” he answered. “After the sword was entered into the gate, apparently a chest was unlocked.”

“A sword of stories could use a sheath of legends,” Ayva answered. “It seems it was meant for you then.”

He liked that thought.

“At least it’s better than that ragged bundle of cloth. And if we can’t afford our way, I’m sure that’d fetch a shiny coin or two,” said the rogue.

Gray laughed as he looked out over the bustling camp. The elves moved about in the bright sun, flowing like the rush of water. With purpose, he thought, knowing it was about time they did the same.

“Eminas,” a voice said abruptly and he twisted.

Gray saw Temian approaching with the reins of three cormacs.

“Temian,” he said in greeting, surprised and delighted to see the elf, though unable to take his eyes from the mysterious and beautiful creatures at his side. The cormacs resembled a horse, but their proportions were distinctive. They were huge with long legs and their broad, powerful chests flaunted them as formidable sprinters. As for the rest, they had shorter muzzles and backs that slopped steeply into a silken tail, which brushed the ground.

“A final gift from the queen,” Temian said. “The elvin kingdom wishes you well on your journey. It may be a difficult one, but at least you shall tread it swiftly. The queen bids you safe travels with the words, ‘watch the east’ for she fears something other than the Gate has been unlocked.”

Gray noted the words, while the majestic beasts dipped their graceful white necks and pawed the ground. “The gift is too much. We have nothing in return.”

“It is not necessary Eminas. To an elf, a gift is a thing of joy, for both parties. Besides, a cormac is not an easy thing to ride. You may not thank me yet,” he said. Gray laughed and Temian motioned them towards the beasts. “Choose your steed.”

Gray looked at Ayva and Darius—their eyes were as big as Farbian coins.

“Well, if you insist,” the rogue replied, wasting no time, leaping astride the second tallest of the beasts, the most restless of the three. Ayva followed suit, choosing the smallest one, and Temian gave her a leg up. She glowed with excitement as she took the reins. Gray watched a breeze ruffle her newly cropped hair. Her dress was light-blue linen, embroidered and split for riding. It was strange, but pleasant to see her in something other than her boyish riding outfit.

“This is like riding on wind!” Darius cried as he cut the cormac in a wide circle.

Gray swung up onto the largest Cormac. He gripped a handful of its fiery red mane and settled into the deep saddle. “Are you with me?” He asked Ayva.

Darius fell in at his side, “Of course, how would you manage without me?”

“Us,” Ayva corrected.

Gray laughed and coaxed the cormac forward. Darius was right. The creature moved as if its hooves barely touched the ground. He glanced over his shoulder. Temian and the other elves were bent on one knee, fists to chest.

The three wove through the last stand of tents. With the sword solidly on his back, he led them into the land of Farhaven. He knew where they had to go. Back to an impenetrable keep of black stone, full of Reavers and magic, where he had first gained the sword and fled in fear. His home.

As he rode, Gray rolled his shoulders, his pack feeling strangely heavy. Curious, he unslung the satchel. Inside, he saw a brown package.

“What is that?” Darius asked at his side.

He unfolded it and there lie the book… the same one Mura had given him in the Lost Woods. It felt like a lifetime ago. The tome opened as if on its own to the symbol of wind. There, in the center of the page, lay a scrap of cloak emblazoned with the twin-swords.

“Kail…” he whispered.

THE END

Acknowledgements

This is always somehow the toughest part to write… After eight and a half years, people have come and gone. I imagine it like a tavern, and I’m the bard spinning a (seemingly endless) tale, and all the while customers come and go, some listening longer than others, pitching a coin, handing me a drink to wet my parched lips, but rallying me on. There have been bumps, naysayers and hecklers—more than one would like, but less than one fears. But at last, the tale is done. And in the end, I appreciate every individual who has listened. Whether you’ve gone with me to print the book out for the first time, sent me an uplifting text, or just simply nodded your head as I ranted about Kail’s ‘epicness’—either way, you have affected me and as a result, the book. So in no small way, you are to thank for the book’s completion. However, this moment is also to say thanks specifically to my diehard fans, and true believers.

To my Mother: (Yes, she was in the beginning, but my greatest fan and friend deserves one last accolade.) Thank you mom, for being with me every step of the way. From day one, when I sent you the first chapter with a one-dimensional hero slaying goblins, to day 2,920; from the lowest pit, and darkest moment, to the highest mountain, from hundreds of rejections and acceptances, and every frustration and elation in the book –you’ve been there. Each time, you’ve rallied behind me, encouraging me to follow my dreams so wholeheartedly that you’ve made me not only a better writer, but a better man. Honestly, there are no words for how grateful I am for you and your support. So really, this book is for both of us, and I can’t wait to begin the next step in the journey and do it all over again.

To my Sifu: Thank you… for listening to me rant, ah! Taking precious training time because I just had to tell you about “The Golden Walkway” and dragons raining down from all sides; for believing in my tale, in its depth, intelligence and creativity (before really even seeing the hard evidence). Perhaps you knew (and hoped) that it had to be good since I couldn’t shut up about it, but most likely you knew because of my conviction. But ultimately, thank you for saying simply (when you read the book): “You deserve it,” with utter conviction. It has only made me work harder, and I hope that the integrity that you have and seem to see within me, matches the integrity of the book.

To Doug: Thanks, bro. Whether it’s relationship advice or book advice, you’ve always been there and believed in me. When you said, “You can easily feel confident that your book stands side-by-side with Jordan and the others”—it was a defining moment and one of the few that I’ve allowed to really hit me. I know I don’t say it enough, but your support has always meant a lot.

To my Dad: I love you. Thank you for being the man you are, and I appreciate your support. Sharing the book with you has meant the world to me.

Also, thank you to Jason Daniel Kobylarz for your very generous support on Kickstarter!

And to all others: friends, family, acquaintances, people who’ve grabbed me by the scruff and lifted me up when I’m down, or simply listened to my tale, you all are amazing. So while it may be easier to say “I’ve done it”; the truth is “We’ve done it.”

Thank you.

Glossary

A Link –
A bond between magic users that wields even greater power. It is said hundreds of Reavers were used in ancient times to forge epic creations, including the transporters.

Age of Passage –
A rite of passage for those in Moonville and nearby towns (those called Milians).

Arbiter –
A supreme wielder of magic, born of the Citadel. There are only three and some say ever were. Their power is equivalent to their rank.