Blade of War

Prologue

The forest leaves rustled in the afternoon breeze, the golden-hued sunlight reflected off their glossy surfaces as they shuddered, creating a dazzling display throughout the Therian copse.

It was late autumn. Dry leaves mingled with dead twigs on the forest floor, all eager to share their whispered tales. All, that would be, except those being crushed underfoot by a youthful forest-goer. Silver hair poured down her back in large curls; her features seemed slightly angular, definitely not human. Standing little over four feet, she posed no threat to her surroundings.

The girl, gathering her fluttering cloak around her, glanced this way and that as if in search of someone. Small murmurs could be heard ringing through the forest. “Gorro? Gorro?”

A distant “over here” floated to her in response. Whirling in the direction of the voice, she meandered her way through the trees. Before long, she came upon a human boy, not much larger than herself. He was perched atop a stump, slashing thin slices of bark off of a short branch. He had obviously been doing so for a while, as one end of the rod was growing quite sharp. The girl cocked her small head at it, joining her companion on the broad stump.

“What is it?” she inquired.

“A sword,” he replied confidently; he did not take his eyes off of the wood. “Old Galatha told me a story about it.”

The girl's eyes fixed on the blade; it was probably the closest she had come to a weapon in her whole life. She kicked up some leaves idly. “What does it do?”

“You use it to fight. To kill. These are what heroes use,” he replied, still not taking his eyes off of his masterpiece. Not bothering what to question what a 'hero' was, the girl got bored with his hebetudinous hobby and examined the stump, counting the rings like her father had taught her to do.

Four...five...six...

Anyone she met was immediately informed of just how well she knew her numbers. It was one thing that she could take pride in over her brother...

Ten...eleven...

Her finger met an unusual ring. That was different than the others; it seemed deeper, almost like a crack.

The boy glanced down. Seeing her interest in the ring, he dropped his sword and dug his fingernails down the crevice. His brow furrowed. Tugging, he found that it would not budge. In tandem they crouched next to the stub that had once been a great tree, examining the crack . As the girl traced it with a thin finger, she found that it ran in a flawless circle around the edge of the stump. Long minutes of poking and prodding ensued, until the girl found herself watching her companion tap the decaying wood with his makeshift sword, the tapping growing more forceful with each passing moment.

Finally, he slammed the butt of the rod into the ring. A fleeting sound of wood grating on wood was heard and the circular lid of the stump came loose. Both children stared, dumbstruck, at the chunk of wood that now lay tilted, through the base of the stump was even.

The girl was the first one to move, shifting her eyes to the human across from her. When he didn't give her any gesture, she inched forward and found purchase under the lid. Constantly switching her gaze from the boy to the stump, she tentatively lifted it. Below swelled a well of blackness as far as she could see. The girl groped for the sword; the boy made no move in protest, just stared in astonishment and nervousness. Hesitantly lowering the branch into the pit, she found no bottom to halt its progress.

Before her friend could act, she jumped into the chute, the darkness soon swallowing her whole. It was but one instant before her small feet met the ground. The unexpected stop sent the girl toppling to her back. She heard her name being issued from above, but when she glanced up, all she could see was a sillhouette.

As she struggled to her feet, she felt the soft ground of dirt scattered with dry leaves. Not a few yards away a single shaft of light speared down from a ceiling conducted of dirt-encrusted roots and vines: what would be the ground above. Several more holes punctured the roof, yet these were not the main source of light. Further along the tunnel, hopelessly intertwined vines scaled the wall at distant intervals, their leaves emanating an eerie blue light. The girl's name echoed down to her once again.

Turning back toward where the stump had been, she called upwards. “It's okay! Come down, Gorro.”

Silence pounded through the air for a moment as the boy hesitated. Before long curiosity took its grip and a scuffling sounded above soon followed by a heavy thump. Rushing over to him, the girl helped him to his feet with much difficulty.

The pair stumbled over to the light and found themselves at a dead end. Turning, the girl began to contemplate a route of escape. She flung herself to the ground. Closing her eyes, weariness drifted over her. The vines cushioning her shoulder...the soft light of the bioluminescent plants cordially caressing her face, urging her to sleep...and...something prodding her wrist?

Rolling over, the girl blinked blearily.

“You brought that with?” she said, eying the wooden sword that her companion had been poking her with. The boy ignored the question, withdrew the branch and murmured, “Come see this.”

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and forced herself to stand. The human was already at he end of the tunnel, his sword on the ground in order to tug at a part of the wall with both hands. As the girl drew closer, her gaze alighted upon a rather long dagger caught in a tangle of glowing vines. It was sheathed in an ancient steel scabbard, seeming not to have been opened in years. The boy was gripping two spaces of the dagger, attempting to free it. Somehow, the weapon refused to budge.

The boy leaned back. “Did you see it before?”

She shook her head. “You didn't bring your knife?”

Bowing his head to further examine the plant, he replied, “No.” Reaching out a small hand to grasp at the vine, his fingers twitched. A small cry from the girl stopped him for a moment.

“Gorro,” she said uncertainly, “Let's go find Pahlo. I don't think--.” But it was too late. His hand wrapped around the dark stem, and in an instant slithering vines scuttled over his wrist. A scream escaped the girl's throat; her eyes darted to and fro for some way to save her friend. Another vine lashed out and incarcerated the boy's other wrist, jerking him around so that both arms were strung together behind his back. He panicked, attempting to wrench away, yet his constrained wriggling seemed only to make th plant angrier. With small bursts of blue light, leaves detached themselves and sped around him like throwing stars, slashing his face and arms.

The girl watched helplessly; a fleeting thought of using the boy's wooden rod crossed her mind. She curled her fingers around it, wavering uncertainly. There was nothing to hit that wouldn't beat her companion also. Now panicking, she needed something...sharp.

Eyes wide and scared, the girl stared at the dagger. How would she grab it and still evade capture? A shriek from the boy sent her whimpering. He had to be freed...

The dagger tore free of its vegetation and zipped over to the girl's hands. Stumbling back with the force, she gazed in wonder. What just happened? Fear consumed her, tears streaming down her cheeks and unintentional moans coming from her small throat. She yanked at the sheath without prevail. Finally, as blood began to drip from the boy's small face, she slammed the blade down in hopeless frustration. The sheath flew off, jarring her hand. Not having time to waste, the youth stepped forward and sliced the vines binding his wrist with a shaky hand.

The boy toppled forward, scrambling away from the wall. His friend tossed aside the blade and dove down to his aid. Glancing backwards to ensure the vine's retreat, her gaze caught a glint of light deeper withing the wall. The vines returned to their previous positions; the only specimens of evidence were scattered droplets of scarlet blood in the upset dirt and leaves.

The glint seemed to draw the girl in like iron filings to a magnet. She rose to one knee, exhaustion battling curiosity. Eventually curiosity proved triumphant; she found herself approaching it, dagger in hand. Peeling back a skin of leaves with the tip of the blade, the youth plucked out another dagger, identical to the one she was holding.

Just another stupid dagger.

Hurling the blades to the side and herself to her knees, tears flowed once again. Then the boy was sitting beside her, bawling equally hard and clutching her hopelessly.

Yet all of it was shut out as she sat there, simply crying.