A. Searle - The King's sword

“What?” Ronan started to jerk away but saw the dance in her eyes. She was only jesting with him. Arien snorted with laughter and even Keegan chuckled.

“Sit still. I’ll just need to put a bit of salve on it.” She retrieved a small bottle from within her dress.

“Where do you keep all these things?” Ronan growled as she unscrewed the lid and dipped her finger into the yellowed salve.

“One has to be prepared.” The salve was cool. She used her fingers to dab the ointment into his wound. It stung a bit but Ronan allowed her to do what she wanted.

“This isn’t some concoction you’ve come up with made with dark magic is it?” he jibed and she smiled without lowering her eyes from the cut.

“If it was, you would already be dead.” Her smile widened when he grunted. “It’s made of cow urine.” Ronan made a face and she laughed as she let her hand fall from his face. Ronan realized it was the first time she’d ever laughed. And odd sound that was cracked and a bit grating, but Ronan enjoyed the sound of it. It proved she was not all darkness and evil.

“It will kill the infection,” she told him moving away.

“Maybe the two of you could share a room once we get to Fullerk,” Keegan murmured lowly. “Perhaps that is the next step of your plan.”

“If it were I’d be too scared the rat foot would play a part in the experience.” Ronan shook his head, watching Ula. No, he knew the feelings he had for the woman. It couldn’t be helped. She had that nature about her that filled a part of his heart that had been left empty. There was no way to deny it.

Ula seemed to know that was her place in his life. She’d stepped into the role just as naturally as if she’d always been with Ronan. He was too smart to feel such tenderness, especially after what he witnessed the day before. But Ronan could do nothing to change his heart.

By first light they were well on their way. Ronan noticed that Ahearn kept looking back at him. He wondered if the horse was trying to tell him something. But he hadn’t the same gift the horse had. He could not read his thoughts.

“What?” He finally said aloud causing the others to look back at him. Ahearn snorted again, and turned his eyes forward.

Fiona knew it had to happen. She dreaded it, but knew it couldn’t be avoided. It had been her only reservation about accepting this mission. She glanced around the road but there were no other travelers, no one to witness the act, to judge her for what she must do. Sighing, she stepped toward the trees. The branches irritated her skin but still she stepped deeper.

The first pain hit her only moments later. She forced her attention on regulating her breathing. She knew not to panic. Keep calm. Breathe deeply.

Then the second pain hit. Why did it have to be so painful? Life can’t be easy, child. Easy makes us lazy. The memory of her grandmother’s wisdom found her through the third contraction and eased some of the ache.

And you are a Serpentine. There is nothing to be done about it all. Grit your teeth and bear it. But don’t close your eyes, child. Never, never close your eyes. The dark can be a dangerous thing.

Fiona’s gaze locked on a small tree. She could see the deep grooves in the trunk made by a weather worm. Her body twitched, twisted, but she kept looking at the tree, at the life long travels of one tiny little creature. Muscles contracted, then released with agonizing pain. For an instant she thought of lying down then dismissed the idea. It was easier when she was on her feet.

Miniscule circles wound around the trunk, creating the steps of a strange little dance. As Fiona’s thighs began to quiver, threatening to betray her, she imagined the weather worm waltzing its way around, etching the deep grooves of his song in the rain. Her eyes welled but she blinked back the tears and grunted, pushing when she felt the familiar pull in her body. It was easier not to fight it.

Her body jerked and Fiona cried out. She clutched her body but still kept her eyes locked on the trail of the weather worm. It felt as if she was being ripped apart. Her body moved on its own now and she had no control. In a desperate attempt to remain conscious she stared at the tiny holes wondering if the weather worm ever stopped its journey for such suffering.

Points of light danced around her vision but Fiona refused to close her eyes. She felt herself swaying and forced strength into her limbs even though it seemed a useless effort. She was at the mercy of agonizing pain.

As the last bit of tension broke and fell away, Fiona realized she was whimpering. But it was over. It was done. She stepped from the bloody mess at her feet and walked away. One glance over her shoulder and she stopped and lifted a hand to her cheek. The skin there felt smooth and soft. Nothing like the pile of dried skin she left behind her.

And there was no longer a scar on her arm, she noticed. The only mark Diato had made on her before she left him unconscious. Thestian had applauded as if impressed but she’d felt guilt the next day. She’d fought Diato with anger. She could have killed him.

She’d tried to speak with him the following morning, before she left but he’d avoided her, ignoring her attempts to make things better. Only once, right before she left had he looked her in the eye. He’d said nothing though, only offering a nod as a farewell.

Shedding skin is like starting over. You have all the time you need to make your wrongs right. Fiona nodded at the echo of her grandmother’s teachings. How she wished her grandmother were here with her. Serpentines could live forever but they were not invincible. They could be killed.

Fiona squared her shoulders and started again for the road. Yes, it was time to start anew and complete this mission. There was a blacksmith waiting for her protection and guidance to Merisgale.

She wondered if he was a stupid man. Most blacksmiths she had known were learned enough about smithing but pretty ignorant when it came to other things. Fiona doubted this one would be any different. She sighed.

Well, at least he’d had the sense to take the sword to Merisgale. Only one other time had someone besides a guard carried a King’s Sword to Merisgale. The memory tore at Fiona’s heart. It had been a dangerous journey because many wished to get their hands on the sword. There were smaller groups and individuals who would kill for the power that came with the sword.

It seemed there had been a constant battle to hold on to it. Around every bend was a new danger, someone else scrambling to steal the sword and rob Merisgale of her King. Fiona felt tears sting her eyes. And there were those who would die willingly to protect that power. Her grandmother had been one of them. Fiona remembered the quest well, despite how young she had been.

Only eight days into the journey, Fiona had held on to her grandmother’s hand, fear quaking in her small body. Dark had gathered out of nowhere and she’d hidden in her grandmother’s skirts. But Theora hadn’t been afraid. It was just a woman who appeared with black hair and eyes, and the power to move the wind.

“Give up the sword, Theora.” The woman had commanded. Her voice had sounded impressive and Fiona had quaked. Fiona’s eyes had widened. Her grandmother knew the woman. But Theora just shook her head.

“I have different plans than you for this sword. I have obligations.”

“I cannot allow it. This must be stopped.” The woman stepped closer and Fiona remembered cowering. The woman’s eyes had flicked down to the child. And in Fiona’s memory, it seemed they had softened slightly.

“You put a child in harm’s way.” The woman’s gaze had then lifted back to Theora. They narrowed, hardened. Fiona had felt chilled by the force she found in the woman’s eyes.