The Paper Sword (2 page)

Phaer Salutations

X
emion
strode through the long, rippling grasses like some newly arrived explorer stepping over the last few waves onto a never-before-seen shore. With the wind tearing at his long black hair, he climbed the rocky hillock that was the highest point of the promontory known as Dragonsveld. He had resisted all this time in withdrawing the silver blade from its scabbard, but now that the moment was imminent he was filled with a feeling of great glory. As he stood atop the bare stone, the sun bright overhead and the jade green sea rough and misty on all three sides, even the far-off thunderhead seemed at one with the moment.

But Saheli had an intense feeling that someone was watching them. This was a feeling she often had. This was why she was inspecting the stand of fireberry bushes that stood on one side of the hillock. Its berries were red and ripe, as large as crabapples.

“Just think, once an actual dragon fed on that bush,” Xemion said as he slowly withdrew the silver blade from within his green cloak. “That's why they call this place Dragonsveld.”

“Torgee says they are coming back.”

“Torgee says many things.”

“You don't believe him?”

“Yes, I do. Or if they haven't yet returned, I believe they will, and that the Phaer Republic will rise again. Do you smell that phosphorus-like smell the berries have?” he asked as she peered through the thick leaves into the interior of the bush.

“No one could miss it,” she answered, assured that no one was hiding in the bush.

“They say that the reason dragons feed on fireberries is so that they can absorb the phosphorus. They have a kind of flint bone in their throat that they can click together to ignite the flame.”

She smiled. He smiled back at her, her glance skidding away from his as it always did.

“And so it begins,” he said in a dramatic voice.

Cupping both hands and the haft of the sword at his breastbone and arching his back, he pointed the tip and thereby the centre of his being into the very heart of the sun, and so he became, according to
The Manual of Phaer Swordsmanship
, a “stem unto the sun.”

Saheli observed him with a mixture of admiration and concern. Her feeling that something or someone was watching them hadn't entirely gone away. Her gaze kept shooting around the perimeter of the promontory. The grasses and flowers, even when they were not being bent over by the wind, were not tall enough to conceal anyone. In fact, the only place on the whole promontory large enough to hide anyone was the stand of fireberry bushes. And she had already checked there.

Outlined against the heaped up ziggurat of the approaching thunderhead, Xemion proceeded to the second pose, Stars Avalanche. His right hand thrust the sword hilt high, his elbow bent, the blade angled down in alignment with his left leg, which was extended to the side. The wind gusted hard so suddenly that it seemed almost trying to challenge him. He smiled and gripped the hilt a little tighter, his dark hair streaming out behind him.

Saheli allowed herself to study him. The fine angles of his face. The way the same set of features could be so deeply stern and then so utterly happy.

In the middle of the next pose, the Gorehorse, a burst of wind hit the fireberry bushes with such force they swayed and rippled. In that instant, out of the corner of her eye, Saheli was sure she saw balanced on the crook of a branch inside the bush a deep red, almost purple, hand. She gasped and turned. But just then the wind let up and the branches sprung back into place. As Xemion moved on to the Seven Strokes of Crystal pose she cautiously used the end of her staff to move the branch aside again. She now saw that there was a large red bird in there, its beak tucked down against its breast. She shook her head at her own nervousness and returned her attention to Xemion. During the next pose the wind grew stronger and began driving wraith-like tatters of fog before it. And once again, as the fireberry bushes bent — only when her attention relaxed — out of the corner of the eye she clearly saw the dark red hand. But now it had moved to a lower, closer branch. And for just a moment she saw the ghostly outline of a wrist. Xemion had just finished the final pose. He was holding the blade out to her, hilt first. “Your turn,” he offered.

“Xemion, put the sword away. Say nothing!” Saheli hissed.

Xemion quickly obeyed, sheathing the sword at his side and closing his cloak over it. The wind paused and fog began to pile up at their feet. Saheli gripped her staff tightly on one end and thrust it into the centre of the fireberry bush. “Is there someone there?” she called, her voice trembling. She poked again with the sunflower staff. This time it hit something solid. Saheli quickly withdrew the staff, holding it at shoulder height, ready to thrust it forward with great force should she need to.

“Very well done, young lady,” a deep, mirthful voice intoned. The outline of a man wearing some kind of shimmering cloak that exactly mimicked the green and red of the fireberry bushes stepped out and stood before them, half-buried in the ever-deepening fog. A red hand flung back a green hood, and a very agreeable face with bright, jovial eyes became visible. The man had a long black moustache that gave his face a dashing, romantic quality, like a hero in one of the Phaer tales. This was offset by the diagonal scar running across his right cheek and the long black hair that flowed all about him in the fog and wind.

The Man with the Red Hand

“I
guess you've found me,” the man chuckled amiably as he gave a little bow. “Sorry to startle you. I was up here hunting and I heard someone approaching and thought I'd better take cover. It is said there are pirates and slavers and traitors in these parts.” He winked at Xemion, who in accordance with his promise to let Saheli do all the talking, stood silently some ways back, half hidden in the fog, which was now so thick they could barely see a few feet away.

The man's voice was rich and sonorous and there was a touch of humour in it that seemed to infect everything he said. “Now, please allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “I am called Vallaine.” He offered his red hand to Saheli, but she just stared at it, refusing to take it.

“Why did you hide in the bush and watch us?” she asked tersely.

“You sound so suspicious,” he replied in a reassuring tone. “Does my chameleon cloak scare you?”

Saheli shook her head, but the shifting appearance of the strange garment was clearly unnerving her almost as much as his unnaturally red hand. Right now the cloak so accurately mimicked the grey tones of the fog that clung ever more densely about them that he had begun to look a little like a disembodied head floating six feet above the ground.

“Here. I can fix that.” With one quick, swirling movement he removed the cloak, reversed it, and put it back over his shoulders, where it remained solidly grey.

“Is that better?” he asked pleasantly. “I don't blame you for your concern. It is a marvel to see the workings of this cloak. It is superb for hunting. I had it made from the skin of an Altarian chameleon.” Saheli did not look the least bit assured by this but Xemion's eyes were full of enthusiasm and wonder. “It takes the appearance of whatever surroundings I'm in. That's why you couldn't see me in the bushes.” Saheli cast a worried glance at the man's red hand. “Except for this, of course. I lost my glove.” With that, he made a deft wing-like movement with his hand and once again for a moment the red hand resembled the red bird. Suddenly, he flew it toward her, veering away at the last moment. When Saheli gasped he laughed a rich laugh and gazed over at Xemion. Then, with a click of his fingers, as though to dispel the illusion of a bird, he returned his hand to the pocket of his cloak. Saheli glared at him angrily, trembling slightly, her own hands tingling and tight about her staff.

“Yes, my hand is very red. Blood of giants, I'm afraid,” he continued gleefully, winking at Xemion, who had slowly edged closer. “I say it sadly of course. Always wear a glove when you slay a titan.”

With that he stepped through the fog toward Xemion and, looking deep into his eyes, withdrew his hand from his pocket and extended it. “Vallaine,” he said, his smile blazing once again. Xemion looked at Saheli and then he looked at the red hand, but before he could reach for it something sharp and hard thumped into his chest and he let out a grunt of pain. There followed a ghastly shriek as something grotesque and tottering lurched at them out of the fog.

A cutlass slid out of Vallaine's cloak so fast it screeched as though upon a sharpener's wheel. Fine and thin, it sliced through the fog and he emitted his own deep and hideous scream. His face, which had seemed so handsome, now became a dangerous contortion of rage and menace. Just as he swung his lethal blade, Saheli saw the truth. It was their friend Torgee with his younger sister Tharfen on his back wearing a mask. With a sharp blow of her staff, Saheli struck the cutlass in mid-flight, deflecting it just enough to prevent it from colliding directly with its target, but not enough to stop it knocking Tharfen's mask to the ground. Stripped of it, the usually stonefaced Tharfen was revealed on her brother's back, her mouth agape, her slingshot slanting down from trembling hands.

“They're our friends!” Saheli screamed, her staff now pointed toward Vallaine's throat, ready to fend him off should he attack again. Vallaine's face instantly reverted to its former charming appearance. “My goodness, I'm so sorry,” he said, briskly resheathing his weapon.

Tharfen was clearly not pleased to have been so frightened. She jumped to the ground, where she kept raking her fingers through the tight curls of her bushy red hair with one hand while swinging her slingshot round and round in the other. She was about twelve years old and notably shorter than the others.

“What are you doing up here, Torgee?” Xemion demanded, rubbing his chest where the stone from Tharfen's sling had hit him. Saheli warily tracked Vallaine's movements from the corner of her eye as the wind erupted anew, driving the fog away.

“I've been tracking you all morning,” Torgee answered. He tapped his nose in a self-approving way to indicate his pride in the sense of smell he had an abundance of. It was a big nose, and Xemion, who had always considered it to be quite unbecoming, had been surprised recently to learn that Saheli thought it quite impressive, very much befitting his face. “My sister wants your blood,” Torgee said without a smile. “And I'm her bloodhound.”

“I knew someone was following us,” Saheli said.

“I told you I would get you,” Tharfen snarled at Xemion. “And don't be thinking we're even, 'cause we ain't.”

“But you're not supposed to be up here,” Xemion admonished, eyeing Vallaine. “You should go home immediately.”

Saheli turned to Vallaine. “Actually, sir, he's right. We should all go home. None of us should be up here. Come on, Tharfen.”

Vallaine interrupted her in a tone of great concern. “Oh, but please allow me first to apologize to the young lady.” He stepped toward Tharfen. “Tharfen, my name is Vallaine.” He held out his hand to her and Tharfen, only now seeing its deep unnatural redness, froze. “Shall we shake hands?” he asked, his voice deep and rich and charming. Tharfen's own redness had drained from her cheeks when he first held out his hand, but it now returned with renewed vigor, this time as a blush.

“Don't,” Saheli warned sternly.

Tharfen barely heard her. The normally fierce girl rumoured to be the offspring of a union between her mother and a pirate captain turned her face away and put her hand behind her back. “I understand, Tharfen,” the man said forgivingly. “You're still quite young, and of course I imagine you are quite scared of me, aren't you?”

Not even this could tempt Tharfen to take his hand, so he turned his brilliant smile full force on Torgee and likewise offered his hand. Torgee neither bowed nor replied. He just stood there; his nostrils flared, his big square jaw thrust forward, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Come now, Torgee. I can see you're a Phaer fellow. Can we not start anew?”

“Your mother wouldn't want you shaking hands with strangers,” Saheli warned, taking a step toward them. Torgee looked away and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his cloak, the grey hood rippling behind him in the gusting wind. There followed an awkward pause that only ended when the man turned dryly toward Saheli and said, “How may a man ever cease being a stranger if he cannot properly introduce himself?”

Saheli didn't reply. She just stood there with that scared, angry look on her face, her knuckles white as she gripped her sunflower staff. Xemion had been doing his best to remain quiet. But unlike the others he had no fear of this man. Quite the opposite, in fact. “That sword,” he said with awe. “It's magnificent.”

Vallaine bowed. “Well, I might say the same of yours,” he replied with a strange look in his eye. “I never saw such a blade as the one you just danced before the sun.”

“It's not a real sword,” Saheli interjected swiftly.

Vallaine's eyes shot down to Xemion's side, where he knew the item in question lay sheathed beneath the boy's long cloak. For a second it looked as though he might ask Xemion to extract the blade and show it to him, but something in Saheli's glance stopped him.

“Isn't Vallaine an old Elphaerean name?” Xemion asked.

“Indeed it is,” Vallaine acknowledged. “And I'm tall like an Elphaerean too. But I assure you I have not the goodness of an Elphaerean. Why, I'd do wicked things if I had to.” He laughed quite merrily at the look of shock on Saheli's face and turned back to Xemion, “And I never did catch your name …”

“My name is Xemion.”

“Pleased to meet you, Xemion.” Once again, Vallaine offered someone his bright red hand. Xemion hesitated. Half of him wanted to shake that hand, but its deep, unnatural redness repelled him.

“Come now, Xemion. I heard you speaking of your belief in a new Phaer Republic,” Vallaine chided with just a hint of indignation in his voice. “Surely you've heard of the Phaer custom of shaking a man's hand after a conflict as a gesture of peace and goodwill?”

“Of course,” Xemion replied. He swallowed hard, and before Saheli could stop him, he grabbed the red hand and shook it vigorously. Both Torgee and Tharfen looked on, impressed with Xemion's bravery. The grip of Vallaine's hand was a lot warmer and stronger than Xemion had expected — almost too warm and strong. He might have felt a slight shock on contact too.

“Now that's what I like.” Vallaine beamed. “A young fellow with courage and strength. I knew there was something special about you the moment I saw you.”

“Thank you.” Xemion almost blushed as the handshake continued.

“You are obviously a fellow with the touch of destiny about him.”

Xemion returned Vallaine's gaze and kept pumping that red hand eagerly. All his life he had been waiting to hear such words.

“Isn't it against the law for a man to bear arms?” Saheli cut in.

“That depends on whose law you're speaking of,” Vallaine replied just as pointedly. He let go of Xemion's hand.

“What law is there other than Pathan law?” Saheli persisted.

This angered Vallaine. “Do you mean other than the Pathan law that justified the occupation of our island and the murder of so many of our people?” Saheli stared back at him, but said nothing. “Do you mean the Pathan law that in its quest to destroy the threat of spellcraft destroyed all our great libraries and burned the librarians in the same bonfires they used to burn our books and musical instruments? The Pathan law that enslaves our people, separating child from mother and sister from brother?”

“She doesn't know all that,” Torgee dared to interrupt. “She has amnesia.”

“I see.” Vallaine's manner softened. “Well, let me show you what law I obey,” he said. With a small wink at the now utterly pacified Tharfen, as though asking her permission, he slowly withdrew his cutlass from its scabbard and, laying it sideways across his forearm, knelt down to show them the image of a gorehorse embossed in the centre of its hilt. Breathlessly, Xemion, Torgee, and Tharfen gathered around, wide-eyed.

“The symbol of the old Phaer Republic,” Xemion said breathlessly.

“Not just the old Phaer Republic,” Vallaine corrected him, “the eternal Phaer Republic. Just because the Elphaereans have left the Phaer Isle, doesn't mean that their ways and laws must vanish along with them. They are Phaer and righteous laws, and the only ones I care to obey. And you will all notice, I hope,” he went on with a smile at Torgee, “that neither the hilt of my sword, nor the palm of your friend Xemion, here, have been besmirched in any way from contact with my poor, unsightly hand, which, by the way, I was born with.”

When Vallaine stood and resheathed his weapon, Torgee cast a guilty glance at Saheli, gulped, then stuck out his hand. “I'm Torgee,” he offered solemnly.

“Ah, good fellow,” Vallaine, said, shaking his hand. An uncharacteristic grin arced up out of Torgee's stony features.

Tharfen was next. Vallaine's charm and the beauty of his weapon had completely won her over. “Nothing to 'er,” she said when he let her hand go. “Hearty.”

Saheli did not follow suit. She kept both her hands tight on her staff. “Well, it's been very nice to meet you, sir,” she said, glaring at Xemion and Torgee and giving a quick jerk of her head toward Ildewood. “But we really must be on our way now.”

“And what way is that?” Vallaine asked jovially, bowing in a little too close to her.

Just then a loud, eerie bellow swelled up the side of the promontory and spilled over the meadow.

“That is the very call I told you about, Saheli!” Xemion exclaimed. “I heard it this morning. Is it a dragon?” he asked, turning to Vallaine.

“It's not a dragon. The dragons are indeed returning to the Phaer Isle, but that is the call of my mammuth,” Vallaine stated. He gazed over toward the far edge of the promontory, beyond which the voluminous thunderhead seemed so close one might almost touch it.

“You could not possibly have a mammuth up here,” Saheli asserted.

“Really?” Vallaine seemed to find this highly amusing. “Well, who wants to come and see the mammuth that's not there then?” He chortled as he set off toward the other side of the promontory with a capering kind of walk. Xemion and Torgee followed, but at first Tharfen stayed with Saheli, who stared after them angrily. There was a whirring sound in the air, and before Saheli could stop her, Tharfen let the rock in her sling fly straight at Xemion, hitting him square in the middle of the back. He lurched forward with a shout, and as he turned around angrily, received with a significant thump the next stone square in the middle of his chest. Tharfen laughed uproariously at his cry of pain. “I told you I would get you,” she chortled, jumping about merrily. “When I say I'm going to get someone, I get 'em and I get 'em good, so it hurts.”