The Knife's Edge

Chapter Twenty-One

Gray nodded slowly, it all made sense. My past... he thought, pulse racing. Vera slowly ran a finger down his arm towards his sword. His eyes focused on her hand. But one thing didn’t make sense. “He already did find me. You said he would kill me as soon as he saw me. He didn’t.”

“I was going to ask that myself. How did you survive?”

“He warned me and then left. There was nothing more to it. Your story doesn’t add up, Vera.”

Vera sighed as if he were daft. “Is that so? Well, I guess all men need to be told where to put their feet on occasion in order to stop them from tripping over themselves. Answer me this, when he came to you, did he grab the sword?”

“Yes,” said Gray. “But he gave it back.”

“And when he grabbed it, did it cause him pain?”

“It did,” he answered slower, curious.

“You see? He cannot simply kill you and take the sword.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is in the prophecy, Kirin,” she said. “Once the sword chooses a new bearer, the old owner must wait for the sword to ascend, but once the sword turns, any can bind their soul to its purpose. Until that time, all but the true bearer will be pained by its touch,” she explained. “In this phase, Kail cannot wield it. Instead, he waits for you to turn the blade before he can grasp it once again.”

Suddenly something rustled in the brush. The woods abruptly darkened. The fire sputtered dying in a rush.

“They’re coming,” she said.

“Who’s coming?”

“Those who follow Kail, the ones I came to protect you from. This is not something you can face alone,” she said. “There are so many...”

“The town of Lakewood is not far,” he said, “You should run now.”

“You don’t understand!”

“I’m not leaving you,” he answered, when a sliver of darkness crept along the blade.

Master the sword, the words echoed in his head.

“Damn you and your stubborn pride,” she cursed. “You haven’t changed at all. So be it. Together, then.” Strange pink light filled her palms. She tilted back her head, as if letting the power consume her. Faint veins in her neck glowed green. She stood beside him, facing the woods. “Last chance,” she offered.

“Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.” Gray watched as a darkness slunk along the ground, nearing until it was almost upon them. It reached for his boot. He stepped back quickly, but before he could, the darkness shrieked. He looked to his sword in surprise. The darkness is afraid of the blade’s light, he realized. The blade roared, as if in response, its silver luminescence pushing back the darkness. He looked at Vera. The darkness avoided her all together.

It moved away, crawling up the trees, and it turned the leaves to black ash with a sizzling hiss. Gray swallowed hard. Vera’s eyes didn’t even flicker.

Vergs stepped out of the woods, and saeroks stalked behind. Just like the stories, they were covered in sparse fur and loped on all fours. They rose onto two legs, standing twice as tall as him. Thick-hided monstrous vergs, their steps rattling the earth, lurched out of the woods, a steady stream. They were completely surrounded. Abruptly, the vergs laughed. Saeroks echoed their nightmarish brethren, and the sound blended together in a blood-chilling chorus. Gray saw an opening, and charged with a cry.

Words flared before his mind and power filled his limbs. Quenching the Fire.

He cut into a saerok, severing claws as it attempted to parry his mighty blow. The blade cut with liquid ease. The saerok cried out, and its jaws flared wide. A roar like fired sounded, and a seething ball of black hurtled over his shoulder. It smashed into the creature before him, tearing it apart.

Gray saw Vera in the corner of his vision as a verg swiped at him. Fear fueled his limbs, and he rolled between its legs hacking left and right. It howled in pain. A saerok appeared before him, lashing out. Its swipe caught his shoulder and he rolled aside. Gray lost himself in the movements. A voice whispered. Trimming the Stalks, meets Wind Dances in the Reeds, flowing into Tempest Fury. Vera fought by his side. Beasts fell before her fiery black bolts, even quicker than his sword. What was more, he could swear in his flickering glances that the beasts looked shocked as she cut them down—it seemed the only reason they weren’t dead. Gray dove beneath a strike when a cry sounded beside him.

Vera.

She clutched her chest. The menacing dark power that surrounded her quickly dimmed. Saeroks and vergs descended upon her.

He shouted and ran towards her.

“No!” she cried, thrusting out a hand, “Run, Gray! Run you fool!”

The words sounded all too familiar. Gray stopped, paralyzed by the words. No! Not again! He dashed towards Vera, heedless of the corpses that littered the ground.

A saerok jumped before him, blocking his way, and he cut, but the beast grabbed for his sword in one powerful hand. Gray pulled with all his might, slicing its hand. The creature cried out, but two more saeroks joined it, falling in at its side. There are too many. It was the voice of a warrior who knew an unwinnable battle.

“Run,” it said mockingly as blood poured from its wound. Other saeroks and vergs were still coming out of the woods. They approached in a slow, ominous death-stalk. Gray cursed loudly, his mind filled with rage.

Finally he turned, and tore through the woods. He heard the breath of saeroks on his heels and the crash of brush behind him, and he ran faster. He dared not look back as he jumped over root and vine, tearing heedlessly through the shrouded forest.

At last, he glimpsed a light like a beacon through the trees.

Lakewood.