Another Installment of Dragon Valley, with a new point of view.
See the first Dragon Valley story here, the most recent previous installment here, and the next one here.
I remember fire.
I remember endless pounding: the assault on my body. And I, unable to scream or cry for the pain. I remember the water, the hissing of it. I meant to scream but could not, because I lacked a mouth.
More fire. More pounding.
I do not know how often the process was repeated - I do not know if it was repeated, or if it has just been remembered too often.
Then came darkness.
When the fire and pain were over, I realized I had no hearing, and no sight. I had no concept even of who or what I was. All I could do was think of the emptiness that surrounded me. Until the soothing touch.
I was taken in hand; I knew what I was. I was a sword. The thought filled me with dignity and honor. The hand that held me was brave and strong. He was a noble warrior, a hero; I could see that he would be king someday though, only moments before, I did not know what a king was.
But there was more. I could now see through his eyes. I could hear through his ears. It was as though his body were an extension of my mind, and his hunger were mine.
“That should serve you, my lord. It is the best I have ever made.”
“You have made well, and I expect it shall serve me quite well.”
And I did serve him, as well as I could. I most loved when he used me in battle, the sun shining above. When he sheathed me, I could still see faded colors and hear muted sounds. But when he swung me in battle, I felt alive. The heat of the blood, the give of flesh as I sliced through his enemies.
But I hated when he laid me down, or cast me aside. The time between battles began to stretch longer. I became lonely. I began to resent being left aside. And, one day, he left me alone too long. I felt no sun, could not tell where he had me. A basement? An attic? A display case, a trophy for battles he’d won? He had not won those battles. I had. I was the one that got him that throne. Some gratitude he showed, leaving me to rot and rust, blind and deaf to the world. Unable to tell him where to strike, to whisper how to move to stay alive.
I grew enraged. To take up peace and abandon me, who had served so faithfully, time after time. I saved your life, sword-bearer. I used you to give me life and give me senses. I used you to give me heat and purpose. I saved you and gave you power. I should be ruling this kingdom, and you should be my mouthpiece.
Finally, he picked me up. He carried me into battle again. I could not understand the mutterings of the creatures around me. I know they meant something, and meant something to him. I could not tell what, until they said:
“Lose this battle, and you lose your kingdom.”
A king without a kingdom is a sword on a shelf. If I had a mouth I would grin. It was his turn to be abandoned. Years he’s abandoned me. Decades I lay unused, and now he will feel the loneliness I did. But only at the right moment. Fail at the wrong moment, and he will recover, or be saved. Until that moment, I brought all my anger at him down on his foes.
Until.
Until that moment. He brought me up against an attack, and I moved away. The pain seared through him also seared through me. For a moment, I couldn’t remember if this was my vengeance against him or his hatred of me. But he would not survive. He thrust me at his enemy, a mighty creature, half man, half something big and scary. But I turned his hand aside. I scratched the creature’s side, felt just the taste of its blood. The thing brought its own weapon down, and the king fell.
It was delicious, this vengeance. I had betrayed him, finally and fully. But as I lay there, watching him slip away, I felt myself begin to slip away. My anger and hatred remained, seething under the surface. Through years and centuries following, people held me. But I could so rarely understand any of them. My anger grew and faded and grew and faded so many times. If I had been one of these creatures that so often wielded me, I still could not have counted the passing of ages.
And then came a man who cared for me. He cleaned me; he practiced with me. I did not get the war I sought. I could see and hear, though not as well as with the king. He showed me true battle skill, but never against someone else. It was a calm feeling, a touch of peace. And he passed me on to another, who passed me to a third. And the third forgot me, and I wept. I wept alone, until…
“A fine selection for someone with no customers.”
The other man, the one that kept me, said something I could not hear.
“You keep them well polished."
Another response, another muttering.
“The dragon's eaten my flock, down to the last sheep. I'm going to stop it.”
A dragon! I began dreaming of what a glorious fight that would be. Then he picked me up, and I knew I’d found myself another bearer. I did not know where he would go after the dragon fight, but this man shone brighter than that king. And I could almost see that dragon, nearly taste it on my blade.
He took me, and visited his sister. The three of us went where spirits spoke. A place where the whispers were like memories forgotten or yet to learn. Some of the spirits burned like a soft version of that first fire. Some were cold like winter. And I could see and hear them so brightly, even sheathed. And there was someone there, someone who...
"Let me see it, please."
My bearer gave me up! The first touch of this stranger hurt. I knew what pain was, in that moment, and locked my thoughts away. I could feel him, looking at me. Like we were equal. He asked me, without words, what I was. I showed him the battles that had given me the greatest joy, the ones before I killed the king. That death filled me with shame; I hid it and the emotions from him, and skipped through the ages to this new man. The sight through his eyes, the sound in his ears, the...smells. I could smell.
I showed him what little I could see of the fight with the dragon, and this stranger stopped watching me. Turned his attention away, and I felt - lighter?
"Excuse me, Domin, but - "
"Oh! Sorry, I have sight, not swordsmanship."
Shortly after, my new bearer took me to a man of strength, who shrank from battle. He took me then to another place. A place with...creatures. There were animals there that were rare. There were people, warrior I could see by their heart and people of a type I do not care to know. I heard the one I did not want to know question my bearer about his skill. He questioned whether he could fight the dragon. He questioned me.
My bearer drew me from the scabbard. In his hands, I could feel the heat of the sun. I could see every spot of light, hear the smallest sound. I saw three challengers. Guards, he calls them in his head. In thoughts nearly as clear as that first king’s thoughts. Practice only, we must not harm them.
Not harm them? Not harm an enemy in battle? They are not enemies. What kind of man is this, that fights his friends? If they face me, they are enemies. If they fight me, they will die.
They surround him. One of them swings down, a broad and awkward stroke we counter easily. There is a man behind us. I draw the bearer back, and he can feel me slip; he kicks the man in front of us, throwing him down. The man behind us dances away from me.
He should not have gotten away; I am too long rusty.
Swing and parry, dodge and attack. I am getting back into battle now. Attack, block, thrust, parry, kick. Small motions for effect, large motions to distract. And then the opening. It is time to draw blood.
I bring the bearer's arm and swing towards the man’s neck. This head will roll!
But the bearer stopped me.
What are you doing! We could take this man’s life, we could end this enemy. I want this blood to wash over me, to bring back the battles I miss from so long ago. I can feel the flesh on my metal. I try to push this arm further, I can feel my edge digging at the skin, one tiny move and I will taste again…
“I’ve proven my skill. Give me the rule of your men!” My bearer cried out. I hear the response, but feel blood so close I do not understand the words of the response.
“Give me the rule of your men, outfit us. You can have the scales and the talons and the eggs, and every bit of the dragon that isn’t meat,” my bearer spoke too much.
Come on, come one. Slide along the skin, just a little. I can feel the top layer of skin starting to give. You can push through that layer.
“Half the treasure! I will take my pick first, and you get half the treasure to split among your men,” He said. Fine, fine, give up your money. But let's finish this battle.
I could feel the sweat on the bearer’s hands. He was resisting me, the horrible man. There was a noise from some other - person. A single sound, who cares of that, the bearer is keeping me from the nectar of war. And there it is! The motion that…
I am sheathed. I have been denied.
I will not forget this.
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