Father Sword

The New King

My father was at the bed. Dying.

Of course, not everyone pictured it this way. Some were happy for him to go, but most of us are mourning. He was a good leader. He was a good king.

I looked outside and saw a crowd of people outside the palace, shouting in anger. Of course, I know why. It doesn't take a genius to know why they were mad. They were worried about me.

However, I couldn't just stand at the bed watching him die. It was hard watching eyes drift off into eternal sleep. His eyes gazed into mine. Yep. He's dying. I walked up to him and hugged him with all my might. The feeling of warmth from him spread comfort across my skin. He kept gazing into me.

My father finally said, "Ribus, do you know how?"

I nodded. Tears rolled down my cheek. My eyes felt like a faucet that wouldn't shut off. My feet couldn't keep my balance, and I tumbled onto the bed, hugging him.

Finally, I said, "I can't do it."

"Yes you can, my boy. You just have to try."

"Those people out there. They-"

He cut me off, "I know they won't like it, but think about what you can do, my boy. Your sword fighting skills are unimaginable! A battle wouldn't even hurt a leg!" His eyes looked into mine again, and he said, "You can, Ribus. You always could."

"Do it for me, Ribus. Okay?"

His eyes had drifted off to sleep.

I stared at the corpse that was once my father and felt his skin that was now lifeless. His eyes were shut, and his hair softened. I could already imagine his decaying body, invisible right now.

My mother walked in the room. She was looking at me when he said, "I know it is tough, but your father will live."

I gazed into her eyes, no tears. I had to be a man. I had to be a man for my people. I said, "My father is dead."

My mother ran over to the bed and tumbled on the corpse, more teary-eyed than I had ever seen. She covered her face in the pillows of my father's bed. I couldn't help her right now. The people came first.

I walked to the other side of the room and saw the sword. My father's sword was a family heirloom descending to each king. Now, it is my turn.

I picked up the sword and walked out of the room.

As I opened the doors, the whole country stood before me. Every single person was standing straight, facing towards me in silence. A servant next to me said, "What speech will you give to them?"

A SPEECH? My father had just died minutes ago, and he expected me to give a whole speech? This was an outrage! I should have ordered every guard in Metimur to make sure everyone cleared out. I just couldn't do a speech. It's like asking a troll to explain how principles of math work.

I looked at the sword of my dead father and remembered his words, "You just have to try."

I stood out in front of everyone and declared, "People! My father, your king, the ruler of Metimur. He is dead!" My guts flipped over on themselves. Nobody said a word.

I waved my sword in the air and a few started clapping. Some cheered, but most stayed silent, trying to hear.

They wanted a speech, not a chant. Well, if they wanted one they would get one.

I yelled, "People! I know I am only thirteen years old! I know I am only capable of so much at my age! However, to make sure this kingdom stays as one, I promise to each of you I will rule Metimur exactly like my father did!"

A loud chorus of instruments came on. The cheers of the people sounded like loud trumpets playing in victory for surviving a battle, winning a war. The feeling inside me lifted high. Everything would be alright. Even though my father was dead, even though I was only thirteen, even though my mother couldn't stop mourning over him, the people were with me.

And right then, that was all I needed.

A week later, terrorists attacked the city.