The Knife's Edge

Chapter Five

“The prophecy states that if you do not learn to control the sword and your power, your fate will be one of sorrow and death. You will wield a power more dreadful than a hundred Returns, ultimately bringing the world to its knees.”

Kirin backed away. “You’re wrong...”

“It is not your fault, for the sword holds a terrible darkness,” Ezrah said, eyeing the blade, “A darkness borne of its previous owner.”

“Vera?” he said in disbelief.

“No. The sword is called Morrowil. It was once held by Kail, the leader of the Ronin.”

“You mean the betrayer of men...”

“Some call him that. Regardless, whether by your own design, the swords, or another’s, it is your destiny to become the harbinger of chaos.”

Kirin forced his racing thoughts to slow. He shook his head. “Damn the prophecy! Whatever it says, that’s not me! I will fight it!”

Ezrah’s reply was quiet and cold, “Just as you fought what you did to Ren and the others?”

He swallowed, looking away. “Is... is there no hope?”

He felt a strong hand upon his shoulder. “You have me. And there is one chance, but it is not without peril.” Kirin looked up. “I uncovered a slim passage of prophecy. Where countless paths lead to ruin, there is one that treads death and chaos, but leads to salvation. It is a prophecy called the Knife’s Edge.”

“What am I to do?”

“You must flee,” Ezrah said and hastened towards a dresser made of polished silveroot. He murmured something, and then plunged his hands into the bookshelves. As if there were no books, the man’s hand extended, flowing beyond. Ezrah’s face contorted until a look of satisfaction settled and he pulled his hand back from the magical bookcase.

Kirin watched as Ezrah returned and in the palm of his hand sat a pendant with the symbols of the Great Kingdoms. “This is what you will need. It is very rare. Under its protection you can cross the Gates, then from there, you will find safety in Daerval, in the land of the Lost Woods. The path is far from certain and there are many pitfalls along the way, but this is our only hope.” Ezrah smiled, his deep-set lines becoming, for the first time, warm. “Take it,” he said and tightened Kirin’s hand into a fist around the pendant

Kirin gripped the pendant, looking around the room. The candle flickered on the desk, and the fire crackled in the corner. The scene was too serene, too starkly quiet to match the chaos that roiled in his mind. Were it any other day, he would be fireside, huddled over a bowl of soup after a long morning of mental or physical training, close to his brothers, the other Devari in their warm, lively halls. “I will do whatever it takes,” he said.

“There is one last thing. You must take that as well.” Ezrah motioned to the sword on the ground.

“No, I...” Suddenly the visions returned and he fell to his knees. He saw their faces. Forgha, Maerus, and Ren, and he whispered in horror, “I killed everyone.”

“It’s all right, my boy, but you must be quiet.” Kirin heard the rattle of boots in the halls and he forced himself to silence, but he couldn’t stop the visions. He heard his grandfather’s soothing voice, “I can make it stop. I promise, but there will be a price.”

He gripped his grandfather’s robed sleeve. “Anything,” he pleaded.

“I will cleanse you of what you have seen, for your sake, and for the sake of the prophecy,” Ezrah replied. “However, it will only be temporary. One day, you will remember who you are, and where you came from. But for now, you must leave all that behind.”