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Extra Note: The Siri was created by Martha Wells and is featured in her
novel, “Wheel of the Infinite.” It is wielded by bodyguard Rian, a skilled
and dangerously alluring swordsman, who always reminded me of some
kind of bizarre combination of Ben and Daniel. The history of the culture
and weapon is entirely my own, but the concept belongs to Wells. Props
to her.
The weapon held no holy air, and did not reflect its own history of
religious and royal dispute. Its weight did not make me forget the cold
bleeding up my legs or the burning ache of my arm. It did not impress, it
did not awe, and it certainly did not seem worthy or able to protect the
man who had just handed it to me.
“A sword,” I monotoned, nonplused.
“Not just any sword,” Karl contradicted, stepping around Darren to stand
between us. “Quite possibly the best sword ever created.”
I glanced down at it again, letting my gaze sweep the sheathed blade. It
was unadorned by curve or jewels, and the only decoration was found on
the grip and hilt: foreign symbols carved in with time and precision. I
pulled gently on the weapon, and it slid with ease out of its sheath, eager
to be used. But no glint from the garish overhead lights hit the steel.
The material seemed to shift within the blade, though, creating swirling
eddies of grayish sand.
“It’s a Siri,” Karl explained as I drew the entire sword out of its bindings.
“It has been used for centuries to protect priests, kings, magi...the
wielders of the Siri were long in training, but eventually fell silent from
misuse. In this new age, we have no need for royal bodyguards.” The
doctor smiled wryly. “The weapons were melted down, except for this
one. It could not be destroyed, so it was buried here.”
“How...?” I asked, with no specific question.
“I have my theories.” Karl shifted his position closer to me, and I parried
the blade to examine it. “It’s not made out of steel. It’s a combination of
melted down diamond and silver. It was reshaped into a sand mold and
cast as a Siri.”
I sheathed the sword with a silencing swoosh, and offered it back to
Darren. “I’ve never trained with a sword. “I don’t know how to use it.
I’ll probably just end up doing more harm than good.”
“That’s what Ben said, when my father first gave it to him.” Darren’s
eyes washed the ground. “It’s meant to help you, not hurt you. You’ll
learn to use it, and you’ll learn faster than you think. The sword molds
to you, to your own ability.” He looked up, and his blue eyes scalded
me. I wasn’t used to people staring me down. “Besides, it was your
offer to take over his position. Unless you want to back down.”
I shook my head. “I assume all duties immediately.”
“Then you’ll need the sword.”
I kept the weapon reluctantly. “We’ll see,” I said. I hefted the object
with my left hand and managed to sling it on my left side with an
awkward movement. Karl frowned.
“What’s wrong with your arm?” He advanced upon me, grasping my
right shoulder. I hissed at the pressure. “Third degree burns,” he
exclaimed to himself. He looked up at me. “Why didn’t you say
anything?”
I set my jaw and glanced at Darren. The man was watching me,
concerned. Karl sighed at my silence and placed his other arm on my
elbow. “It’s through two layers of skin,” he muttered.
I simply flinched. I felt and watched numbly as the skin knitted itself
together under his hands, a look of devout concentration on Karl’s face.
The longer his steely grip held my forearm, the less I could feel at all.
What magic did those hands work?
Glancing down at the Siri, I frowned. More magic. Ben’s being alive,
the light coming on in the hall...I suddenly wanted to get out of this
dump, even if it was more dangerous for me on the outside. I wasn’t
even sure if that was true anymore.
I waited the long, numbed moments as Karl finished his wrapping and
prodding, until he released me.
The moment his fingers left my skin, the pain came hurtling back, and I
felt my knees bend until I was staring at the floor, inches from my face,
the metallic pattern biting into my skin.
The shock of falling slightly canceled the pain in my arm.
Darren was talking over my shooting breath, and I struggled to focus on
his words.
“It’ll heal quickly,” Karl was answering. My fearless leader was
watching me silently, pensively. Then, after a pause, he nodded and
turned.
“I need to go out when the sun sets. Back to the ruins, to see if anyone
else survived.” Then he was gone, disappearing into the cockpit, and
Karl followed him silently, after a backward glance.
I moved my head up and down once. It was all I could manage. The pain
in my arm was significantly less than it had been, but I was still in shock
from the abusive rush. I listened to the surge of my pulse, the ache in my
knees, and the weight at my hip. The Siri. Was I really supposed to
defend Darren with a burnt arm and a weapon I’d never heard of?
It was time to see Ben, ask his advice. If he was feeling alive enough.
*~*~*
“I told you he was good.”
Ben sat propped against the wall, his leg stretched in front of him.
“You call that good?” I snapped. “I’ve never had so much pain in my
entire life. You all must be crazy.”
“Without a doubt,” Ben said willingly. “But your arm will be healed
tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest. He actually regenerated your
skin. There’ll be a little swelling, of course, but that only lasts a few
days.”
I glared at the man. “And he did this to your leg, too?”
He smiled briefly. “Of course he did. He’s a miracle worker, but it takes
years off your life. Healing so quickly doesn’t come without a price.
The pain is just a preliminary. You probably just shaved off about three
years.”
“Damn,” I replied, sarcastically. “Three less years in this wonderful
world.”
“Life fast, die young, leave a pretty corpse,” Ben recited smugly. After a
moments pause, his expression shifted to a glare. “The fuck is that?”
“What?” I asked, my hand falling automatically to the hilt of the weapon
at my side. I had already grown used to its weight.
“THAT,” he nodded at me. “The sword.”
“Oh,” I replied dumbly. “That.”
His glare grew sharper as realization hit. “Just what do you think you’re
doing?”
“Relieving you of your duties. For now.” This wasn’t how I’d wanted
to tell him. It was supposed to be more of a subliminal favor. Not
something I came out and told him about, to get his praise.
“And just why is that?” His voice was inlaid with ice.
“I just wanted to give you a break-”
“I’m happy right where I am,” he growled, struggling to sit forward
without shifting his leg. “I’m perfectly fine. I don’t need your help, and I
don’t need you taking my place.” He extended his hand demandingly,
palm out, sounding disturbingly calm. “Now give me my fucking sword.”
My skin burned and my torn muscles protested, but I managed to draw
the sword with my right hand. The dull blade hummed its way out of the
sheath, and I held it drawn but close to my body, pointed toward the
floor. The weapon seemed to whine against my hand, vibrating slightly,
testing me.
“It knows you can’t hold it.” Ben’s voice had changed slightly, his gaze
locked on the blade. “It’s adjusting to your grip.” I glanced from him to
the blade and back again. He looked up this time, and nodded, once.
Sure enough, the vibration seeped into my fingers until it fit my hand
perfectly. I raised the blade, sure that it had grown slightly longer since I
had last drawn it, and examined the metal again for any marks.
“It can’t be scratched or bent. It can only change itself.” The sand
beneath the gray surface swelled into a torrent of movement at an unseen
wind, creating small spirals and lines.
I reluctantly handed the weapon, hilt first, to Ben. The blade immediately
shortened and grew heavier, reforming itself to his height and strength.
“Help me the hell up, already,” he ordered, keeping his hand out. I pulled
him up and he leaned on me, holding the weapon in his right hand. Ben
seemed to have forgotten his anger at being replaced and supplemented it
with joy of teaching. “Watch this,” he whispered, and - sheathed the
sword at his side.
Into nothing. It was gone.
“What...” I began, but couldn’t finish. More magic.
Then he was pulling something from the air at his side, and the weapon
reappeared. “You bring it with you everywhere,” he said, leveling the tip
at my chest. “Everywhere. Do you understand?” I nodded, and the
blade retreated to the floor. “Get rid of the scabbard. If you simply look
like you’re sheathing it, then you are. If you draw it, then you are.”
He handed it back to me and watched with an attentive eye as I discarded
the scabbard and replaced the bare blade at my hip. I could still feel the
weight of the weapon at my side, and I would have to be careful to not
swing the powerful blade into anything at my heels. “Until I’m healed,”
Ben said, lowering himself back to his mattress with painful speed that
flashed across his face for no further than a moment. “No longer after
that. I won’t dishonor myself by letting you take this away from me. I’m
stuck with Darren, like it or not, until I’ve paid my dues.”
“You’ve saved his life a hundred times,” I guessed, but he shook his
head.
“You don’t understand. It’s different. One day, maybe, we’ll be even, he
and I. But it’s unlikely. Until then, I’ll just have to keep working. Keep
trying.”
tbc in part nine...