CHAPTER 2

You Say It’s Your Birthday

Octobre 29, 5599

 

The morning of Maidawn’s sixteenth birthday began with the suns shining and byrds singing in the trees outside her window. She said good morning in her mind to the horaft tree that grew beside her home, as she did every morning, and it replied in kind. Maidawn could smell a cake baking in the stone oven, so she quickly dressed and left her room.

As she walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, she stopped and looked at a drawing hanging on the wall that she had done when she was much younger. It was a picture of her family that she had created with a piece of charcoal on a flat sheet of tree bark. It always made her smile when she looked at the stick figures of herself and the welcorgs. She touched the drawing, remembering Zift when he was smaller.

She continued down the hallway to the kitchen, expecting to only find Betishine there, maybe tending to something on the stove. But she was pleasantly surprised when she saw that her entire family seemed to be gathered, as if they were waiting for her.

“Joyous birthday!” her family shouted as Wrecker jumped into her arms and gave her cheek a few licks. Maidawn put him down and gave him a kiss on top of his head. Straightening, she said, “Thank you.”

After everyone gave her a hug, they all sat down to breakfast. Betishine served up a huge meal of flapplejacks, wild bloar baquan, eggels, and cowoat milk. Maidawn ate more than her share, as this was a very special meal. It was not often that her family had meals like this. She enjoyed her birthday breakfast immensely.

After breakfast was over, Zift volunteered to do the dishes, a job that usually fell to Maidawn. Being that it was her birthday, Maidawn gratefully accepted his offer. Soon, when everyone had gathered around the table again, Angustus said, “We believe we have something that’s intended for you.”

Maidawn crinkled her nose and thought, What do you mean by intended?

Angustus walked into the den and over to a long, leather-wrapped box that was leaning against the large rock fireplace. He had to use both of his front pawhands to lift it into the air. Amazingly, being as strong as he was, it appeared that he struggled to hoist it up. He staggered for a moment, threw it up over a shoulder, then turned and carried it back into the kitchen. He grunted with the effort of lowering the box.

“Oh my,” Maidawn said as Angustus placed the present on the table with a loud thump.

“Heavy,” he panted, stepping back.

“What is it?” Maidawn asked with eyes wide.

Betishine piped in, “Open it and find out.” She clapped her pawhands together in gleeful anticipation.

Maidawn unwrapped the dusty and worn leather to find a very old metal box underneath. Grabbing the clasp in one hand, she flipped it down and pried the box open. The lid protested with a loud, rusty, metallic squeal. At the bottom of the box lay a stained white blanket. Maidawn reached down and flipped the blanket back revealing two amber-colored metal swords. Maidawn gasped at their magnificence.

She tilted the box toward her to get a better look. Angustus raised his eyebrows in amazement at Maidawn’s strength to be able to tilt the box so easily. At that moment, a cloud moved from in front of Brumel, and a beam of light entered through the kitchen window to land on the swords. As they glittered in the sunslight, the entire kitchen was bathed in a yellowish-orange glow.

“They’re beautiful, Father,” Maidawn said softly, running her fingers along the flat of one of the blades, careful not to cut herself on the edges.

“Where’d you find them? Are they real swords? Why are you giving them to me?” she asked peppering him with questions. She laid the box flat on the table again. Her wooden swords were nice, but they weren’t anything very special, except for the fact that they had been made with love. These, on the other hand, were spectacular.

Angustus stared at his beaming daughter, happy that she liked her birthday present. “So many questions,” he said, laughing.

Zift walked up to Maidawn and peered down at the swords in the box. “Nice! I wish I could use swords. Those would be fun to battle with.” He reached into the box, grabbed the pommel of the sword on top, and tried to lift it over the lip of the box. He frowned as he struggled with the weight, lifted the pommel over the edge, found himself unable to hoist it any further, and finally let go as it was too heavy for him to maintain his grip. As it started to slip from Zift’s fingers, Maidawn instinctively grabbed the falling sword’s pommel. She smiled as she easily raised it out of the box and laid the sword on her lap.

Zift’s jaw fell open in amazement.

Maidawn ran her hand over the flat of the blade, admiring the smoothness of the metal. She grabbed the pommel again, stood while lifting it above her head, and swished it around in a circle a couple of times.  As she sat back down, Maidawn laid it back on top of her legs.

“I thought you said it was heavy,” Maidawn said to Angustus with a frown.

“He did,” Zift replied looking confused. “It was! I couldn’t lift it! It’s very heavy!”

Angustus cleared his throat. “The swords, created with magic and then endowed by that same magic, have been in our family for many, many generations. How many, I cannot even begin to tell you. Somewhere around two thousand years or so, I believe. A long, long time ago, out of nowhere, a young monk named Brother Aramis approached my ancestor, Triaston. He gave him the swords and told him to hide them away.

“Triaston asked, ‘What good are swords to a welcorg? We cannot wield them.’

“‘They are not for you or your kind,’ Brother Aramis said, shaking his head. ‘Someday, far in the future, one of your descendants will adopt a human. The swords are to be given to that person. He’ll stop all of the fighting and unite the races.’

“‘A human? I sincerely doubt it,’ Triaston said with a frown. ‘Welcorgs do not associate with humans anymore.’

“‘That’s true,’ Brother Aramis said forcefully, ‘but it’s been foreordained. You and your family must protect these swords with your lives. The fate of Chelt is in your pawhands.’

“After Brother Aramis left, Triaston placed the swords in a metal box and buried them under the floor in his house. Before he passed away, he told his son about the swords, and his son did the same to his son. The swords were passed down every generation until my father told me about them. I expected to give them to Zift one day, but that seems to be unnecessary now.”

Maidawn looked down at the sword on her lap, then back at her father, her mouth agape.

Angustus stared directly into Maidawn’s eyes. “You are the only human to be adopted into our family. Although Brother Aramis referred to a boy, he must have been mistaken. I believe that these swords were meant to be wielded by you, Maidawn. I see that now because you’re the only one who can lift them without effort. They were meant for you, and for you alone.”

“Me?” Maidawn asked with wide eyes. “Why me? I’m no one special.”

“I don’t have an answer for you,” Angustus said as he looked down at the sword on Maidawn’s lap. “But they are yours now. And don’t think I don’t know about you up on that hill of yours. I’ve watched you practicing with your wooden swords many times, and I’m sure that these swords will be more effective than your old ones.”

Maidawn blushed. “I didn’t know anyone had ever seen me.”

Angustus beamed proudly, “We’ve all watched you, at one time or another. You’re a very talented swordswoman. It’s as if the swords are an extension of your arms.”

“I see nothing,” complained Wrecker, looking around in confusion.

Zift patted Maidawn on her shoulder while Betishine smiled.

Maidawn blushed even more. “Thank you, Father.”

She looked down at the fine metal sword on her lap and then at the other still in the box. They were both straight and about three feet long. On the end of the pommel of both swords was a small amber jewel. Stamped onto the guard of the one on her lap was a small symbol of a majestic horaft tree.

“I’ll treasure these always,” Maidawn said as she ran her hands carefully over the symbol. She gripped the leather-wrapped pommel of the sword on her lap, and this time the blade began to glow green. Her family witnessed a puzzled look appear on Maidawn’s face.

Maidawn thought, Your name is Jati, isn’t it? she asked the sword in her mind. Yes, Jati. I can hear it.

She reached into the box for the other sword. She lifted it out and looked at the symbol, which was one of a lightning bolt.

What’s your name? she thought, peering at the sword. The blade of the sword began to glow white as Maidawn’s eyes widened. Torrid. That’s your name. Jati and Torrid.

The family did not seem to notice the glowing or realize that the swords had spoken to Maidawn. All they witnessed was the sixteen-year-old girl smiling while she gazed at the two swords, one in each hand.

Placing both of the swords back on top of the table, she stood up and hugged her parents. She punched Zift in the shoulder, who laughed, and proceeded to play with Wrecker for a couple of seconds.

Maidawn spent the rest of the day cleaning and polishing the swords. She tried to talk with them more, but all she got out of them was their names. The pommels needed some work, as they had grown tattered over the centuries. She ended up removing the old leather and rewrapping them with some new leather Angustus had lying around. She then treated the leather with oil that had been extracted from the lasynîre plant. She even polished the amber gems until they fairly sparkled.

Finally, late into the night, she moved the swords aside, satisfied with how they looked, and climbed into bed.

She lay there for a while wondering why the swords had been left for her. She also wondered why the swords seemed to be alive. Was it the magic that created them that gave them life? If so, why? For what purpose? And, how did she fit into the picture? Were they really meant for her and not some other human boy, like her father had mentioned?

Finally, she closed her eyes and fell asleep, dreaming about practicing with them on her hill.