The Knife's Edge (6 page)

Back under the tree where his body sat unaware, the groping shadows turned black as fetid oil. They encircled him.

Within his mind, Kail pushed forward, flying north. His vision swooped down into a wide basin. There sat the jewel of the Eastern Kingdoms, Rimdel. A trader’s paradise. It was a capital with no central rule, inhabited by only thieves, ruffians, and traders as hard as stone. But where once was a sprawling city, teeming with life, now sat a ruined and ashy pit that sprawled for miles. Far and wide, the land was dyed a soul-sucking black. The Eastern Kingdoms are done. Still it was not what he was looking for. Time was closing around him like a noose.

Back beneath the yen tree, his nails sunk into his palms, creating a thin stream of blood. The oozing black crept up his clothes, sucking in the moon’s sickly yellow glow as it moved. It inched higher up his thick neck, like liquid crawlers, approaching his mouth. It left behind a trail of blood and red bruises. It reached his closed mouth and found his flaring nostrils. Slowly, it seeped inside, stealing his breath. The bulk of the shadow struck, constricting around his torso like a monstrous snake with the power to shatter bones. At the same time, the shadows inside expanded, pressing fine poisonous fangs into the soft skin of his throat.

However, he was far away, unaware that his body was dying. He traveled even faster. The world was a blur beneath him. His head swam, and he felt his mind ripping into two parts from the heat of the power. Finally, he smelled it. Their scent was on the wind—ancient yet new. He followed it and snowy plains coated with blood filled his vision. His eyes caught a trailing fleet of hulking beasts and at their head nine men upon tall deathless steeds. His eyes fell upon one of the dark figures with a huge spike upon his shoulder. The figure twisted, as if looking straight into Kail’s soul. Despite the distance, for a fleeting moment, he saw a flash of red. Then, like a cudgel to the side of his head, the vision shattered.

He sucked in the black liquid as his vision broke and he rushed back to his body like a tempest. His eyes bulged as the last drops of air were expelled from his lungs. With the darkness crushing him from every angle, he slowly rose, and shut his eyes. A maelstrom of wind pulsed out from his center, streaming out of every pore. He crushed the heavy black shadows like the sun’s light on the last vestiges of night.

His shoulders rolled in a stretch. Even while holding my power they came. Which means they are either getting braver, or more desperate. He hoped it was the latter, but knew better. Wind flurries died at his feet and in the moon’s pallid light, he watched the last of the black liquid slink along his hand. He brushed it off without looking. Then, with a touch of his power, he ignited it. The darkness cracked and hissed like water upon hot coals, and then disappeared as if it were never there.

He looked north and east. A cold settled over him that was not from the chill night. He had found them. And they were coming. He felt an all-too familiar regret, eyeing Lakewood.

At his back, he felt the presence of a shrouded forest—the ancient woods whose canopy was too thick for even his vision to penetrate. Kail’s scarlet eyes hardened. His gray cloak emblazoned with crossed swords wavered in the wind. He knew what he had to do. At last he turned, and stalked into the night. Into the Lost Woods. What the boy carries must not fall into their hands, he vowed. He had worked too hard to prevent that—even become the traitor to keep the blade upon its destined path.

And if he failed, Kail knew, Daerval would be the first to fall before the entire world crumbled.

A Hymn to an Ancient Forest

G
RAY WATCHED THE HIDDEN POCKETS OF
darkness.

The Lost Woods possessed a haunting beauty. As he followed the hermit, he admired the mammoth tree trunks and knotted branches that twisted up to form a canopy. He inhaled the musky smell of decaying wood.

Before him, Mura hummed a pleasant melody,

Oh’, Ancient trees and forest sullen,
Those who do not, will not, see.

Yet, dull wits, will not hinder thee!
As I bask beneath the great yen trees.

Oh, I have seen battles great!
Fate that has seen the end of love,

But truth have I seen, so great.
And hate, that blinds
Of all great minds,
Since sadness follows me.

Late has come my death,
But I have seen Kailith topple kings,
And Omni battle giants,
When Seth screams defiant.

Ancient trees and forest sullen
Those who do not, will not, see.

So who am I, to sing of sorrow?
When there is always ‘morrow.

After a while, the canopy thinned and the trees turned to saplings. The terrain rose steadily. Gray saw teeth marks gnawed into the base of one of the aspens, a beaver’s missive, and suspected Mura must have been leading him to a body of water.

His mind strayed as they walked, thinking of his favorite stories, fantasizing about the legends and their heroic deeds.

“Mura, I’ve never heard that song before. How do you know it?”

“Are you curious about the song, or about Kail?” Gray missed a step. “I saw your face when I sang his name, you’d be hard pressed to hide a look like that.”

He rubbed a hand through his hair. “Kail and the song then. Both.”

Mura waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, the song is just something I picked up in my travels, either in the taverns of Lakewood, or the eastern trading provinces. As for Kail… seeing as you’ve read most of the tales, I suppose you want to know more than the average stories tell.”

“I do.”

Mura thumped his staff and gave a wink. “Lucky you, for I always find the stories of Kail the most interesting as well! So, how about the rumored legends of how he can never die? Or the tale of the fabled Vaults in the Hall of Wind, where they say he stashed the most precious of weapons. A weapon crafted by the gods.”

“What about the other Ronin? Together they could take him right?”

“Well, each of the Ronin had powers beyond any mortal. They were capable of vanquishing whole legions. Baro the Bull, slayer of giants, led the vanguard. Maris, the Trickster, had a tongue that was quick and sharp, and only his sword was quicker. Hiron, the Shadow, the voice of wisdom moved like water. Dared, the King-Slayer, never spoke, though always dealt the final blow. Aurelious, the Confessor, guided by truth, always took the final verdict. Aundevoriä, the Protector, viewed life tantamount to all else. And finally, Omni, the Deceiver, who was Kail’s right-hand and dealt death like the seven winds.” He paused for emphasis. “It was said the last thing his enemies saw was always and inevitably his frozen-blue eyes beneath his shrouded mask. All of them powerful, all of them legends. But Kail was the strongest of all.

“They say his attacks could never be seen, even by the Ronin, that his blade was so quick it had never been seen out of its sheath. That he moved faster than light itself!” Mura exclaimed. With each word Gray’s pulse beat faster, and with the last words Mura suddenly pivoted, his staff flashed, racing towards him.

Gray tensed, backpedaling, though raising his yen sword in the last moment and the two collided.

“Ha! Guess I’m not as fast as the fabled Kail, or perhaps you are,” Mura said with a wink.

Gray shook his head with an exasperated laugh. “You really are unpredictable sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” asked the hermit, sounding disappointed, and flashed another wink, before turning and heading back down the trail, whistling as if nothing had happened. Gray’s blood cooled, but the stories still swirled in his head until the hermit announced at last, “We’re here.”

A Sight to Behold

T
HE SOUND OF RAGING WATER FILLED
Gray’s ears. Beyond a stand of trees he saw glimpses of rushing water. Mura quickly turned and headed towards it, and Gray dashed to catch up. He wound through the last few trees, ducked beneath a low branch and as he left the shelter of the woods, his right foot stepped out. But there was no ground to catch it. His step extended out over an abrupt ledge that spiraled down to a misty pool far below. He threw his weight backwards, groping when a strong arm clasped his own.

“Fool boy, always needing help,” Mura muttered as he pulled him back from the dangerous precipice.

“You could have told me,” Gray said, his heart still thumped inside his chest, one hand planted on the firm forest floor

Mura snorted. “Well I didn’t think you would go charging out of the woods like a blind boar! Besides I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

It was Gray’s turn to grumble as he pushed himself up, standing far back from the shelf. He brushed himself off, and for the first time, he was truly at a loss for words. The scene was suffused in light. The slim trail led to the side and onto a large rock outcropping that jutted out over the deadly drop. Far below the haze he saw a gleaming pool. His eyes followed the path upwards to the largest waterfall he had ever imagined. It flowed over a cliff arcing gently downward and then cascaded over the natural bridge, crashing against it, continuing its great descent. Furry moss covered the stones at the top of the falls, like teeth from which the mouth of the waterfall’s torrent spewed.

“What do you think?” Mura’s gruff voice was muffled by the roar of the falls.

“It’s beautiful.”

Mura laughed. “You do have such a way with words, my lad. The hermit looked at him, curiously. “Have you ever seen a waterfall?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He tried to dig through his memories, but like every other time, he ran into a barrier and frustration filled him. “What is this place called?”

“Maiden’s Mane. It’s one of four known as the Great Falls. Now are you ready to begin?”

“We’re sparring here?”

The hermit backed up onto the rock bridge. “Come and see for yourself, it’s as sturdy as can be.”

Gray waved his hands. “Oh, no. You won’t get me out there.”

“Well I can’t spar with myself. Come now.”

“What is wrong with this nice patch of solid earth?” Gray stomped on the ground. “Why make things difficult? I’ll slip and break my neck, if I don’t plummet to my death first.” Mura only stared at him. Gray sighed. “Is it safe?”

“If you’d look, the rock is covered in rough lichen that’s as good a footing as any.”

“Why though? It seems an unnecessary risk.”

“I have my reasons. Do you think every fight is fought on fair and even soil, with no obstacles and no distractions?”

“Well, no, but how often will I need the skills to fight over a waterfall?”

“Look beyond your own two feet, boy. I’ve taught you better than that. You should know at least one reason.”

“Surroundings?”

Mura grunted. “Go on.”

“I guess if I can learn to fight here, I can fight anywhere.”

“Aye, lad, once you put that head of yours to work, you really aren’t the hay-in-the-hair-bumpkin you pretend to be. But why just fighting?”

“What do you mean?”

“It goes beyond battle, lad. In any situation there are any number of distractions. That is how a man gets a dagger in his back, a lighter coin purse, or any other misfortune. A man who does not know his surroundings is a man half blind to the world around him. You must always be aware. Understand?” Gray nodded. “Good, now come.”

Walking out upon the furred rock, he put a hand down, to feel the lichen surface. The gray-green mat was coarse and grainy.

“You’re afraid of heights?”

He didn’t look up.

“All the more reason,” Mura replied. “I can teach you to conquer your fears, but I would rather you confront them. A man who knows his fears lives longer than a man without.”

With a heavy breath, Gray strode forward and raised his yen sword before him. A fine rain fell upon his face. “I’m ready.” He tried not to look in his periphery, tried not to imagine the sickening drop and his body smashing upon the sharp rocks.

“Good,” Mura said and ran a finger along the line of his jaw as he appraised Gray’s stance. “But a sword is much different than a staff. You must learn to hold yourself properly before anything else.”

Mura instructed him in a patient tone and Gray listened. He wondered if he had used a blade before, for holding the yen sword in his fists felt right, like a forgotten dream. His feet shifted in anticipation. Water thundered, and tension built.

Renmai

W
IND WHIPPED HIS CLOAK ALIVE, AND
strands of hair lashed his face. Kail stared over the cliff’s edge. He watched the two men.

They stood talking twenty paces apart. The boy practically trembled with excitement. As his fingers flitted at his side, the cloaked man froze, marveling at the odd and familiar gesture. The boy moved, and took a stance. The difference in his posture was far too subtle for anyone else to recognize or understand.