The new lord of Carusoth, Jalik, walked down the long path back to the outside world. He thought about what he had learned, about this new kingdom he had discovered, or, more accurately, had been drawn to. The strange beauty of ruined Carusoth had touched him, and the power he had received would change him forever.
He heard a set of small feet whump-ing very quickly behind him. He looked and saw running towards him a lizard the color of grass, about a foot high and three feet long. It had small, obviously vestigial wings that started he color of blood and faded to a brilliant orange at the tips. It tried to stop itself and skidded across the marble floor. It was breathing heavily.
“My, *pant* Lord,” the lizard said. “I have to . . . ” It paused and breathed. “ . . .tell you. Your father lied to you.”
Jalik stared at it. “What?”
“I can’t stay and talk. The king is embarrassed that he let it happen, so he wants everyone to forget about it, but I haven’t forgotten. You’re not the only one. Or, you weren’t. You may be now, but you weren’t then.”
“What?” repeated Jalik.
The voice of the white dragon boomed down the corridor, striking the walls and reverberating impressively. “Kashti, what are you doing?”
The lizard turned and ran back where it had come from. “I’m coming!” it shouted. It looked back once. “Remember!” it called.
“Remember what? You haven’t made any sense!”
The lizard ignored him, or else he did not hear. Jalik shook his head. He did not have the energy to try to figure out what one strange and out-of-breath lizard had to tell him.
*
As Jalik stepped out into the daylight, he saw that there wasn’t much of it left. The sky had turned a dark blue, and the sun hovered just above the horizon. He saw a campfire a short distance off and decided to go to it. He had never really been afraid of things in the night, and sleep was no longer a crucial part of his existence, but some companionship might be nice.
As he drew near to the campfire, he realized that he knew the young woman sitting at it. Her name was Silver . . . Silverthorn. She had abandoned the Setri army to join Bart, and was presumably searching for her ‘great weapon.’ Maybe he could help her.
“Hello,” he said, stepping into the firelight. The edge of his cloak was almost in the flames, but it did not burn. Silverthorn looked up and stared at him. Jalik had only talked to her once before. She was quiet in a kind of self-possessed manner. She looked to be only in her twenties, but her hair was prematurely grey. Once or twice before he left, Jalik had noticed her staring at him strangely. It was the same look she gave him now.
“Where did you come from?” she asked.
“I came from the city of Carusoth. I’ve discovered my ‘weapon.’” Silverthorn put her head down and closed her eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“I don’t know how to say this,” she said. “It sounds very stupid.” She looked up. “What was your family like?”
“My family? I came from a family of hunters. You may find this hard to believe, though, but I just learned that they weren’t my real family.”
“You’re really Prince of Carusoth, yes. What did the king say to you?”
“How did you know that?”
She sighed. “I’m from Carusoth. I’m your sister.”
“What?”
“I’m your sister, princess of Carusoth. When I was eight and you were just a baby, Carusoth was overrun by a group of land dwellers. You were carried to safety, but I was captured by one of the Setri and ended up with them. I told Bart that the Setri killed my family because I didn’t want to go into the whole story. I’ve only spent the past twenty years or so trying to get back to Carusoth.”
Jalik stared at her. “That’s impossible. The king – my father – told me that I was his only heir.”
“What?” That was spoken in a whisper. Then she shouted. “What? Come with me. We’re going, now.”
She stood up. Jalik was not one to be told what to do, but he was in a good mood and decided to humor the girl. She tried to throw some dirt on the fire, but it didn’t go completely out. Jalik waved a hand and the flames vanished. Again Silverthorn stared at him. “You’ve been given the manifestation gift. Well, can you make some light?”
Jalik held up his staff and it glowed with enough light for Silverthorn to see by. She nodded, put on her backpack, and set off for the entrance to Carusoth at a run.
They were already inside the tunnel and had run for about a mile when Silverthorn finally stopped to catch her breath. “Why aren’t you tired?” she asked, breathing heavily. Jalik shrugged. It wasn’t worth it to explain why. It clearly wasn’t a matter of that much concern to Silverthorn, who straightened and started running again.
*
It was two hours before they reached the city, even at a run. Silverthorn looked in sorrow at the ruins of her home.
“You never saw it when it was alive,” she said to Jalik. “It was even more beautiful then.”
Jalik still wasn’t quite certain this girl was really his sister, but he knew he would find out the truth if she went to see the king.
The white dragon approached them, “My lord, why have you returned so soo-” He stopped and stared at Silverthorn’s tall form.
“Hello, Ailetar,” she said, simply.
“But-”
“But I died when Carusoth was ruined, correct? Well, my brother can return from exile. I can return from the dead.”
A small voice piped up. “I said it! I said it! I knew it! You didn’t believe me, but I said she was still alive!” Jalik heard a familiar set of whump-ing feet and the red-green lizard came running towards Silverthorn.
“Kashti!” cried Silverthorn, picking up the lizard. “Oof. You’ve grown, I see.”
“My lady Silver, I knew you’d come back, and I tried to tell your brother, but Ailetar wouldn’t let me, and . . .”
“Okay, okay! I have to go yell at my father. Why don’t you come?”
The dragon Ailetar broke in. “‘Yell,’ my lady? But why?”
Silverthorn smiled at the great dragon. “Because, according to everybody in Carusoth, I don’t exist, and I want to fix that.”
*
As they walked up the glass staircase, Jalik noticed that Silverthorn was walking under her own power and not compelled by the strange force that had first brought him. She pulled open the double doors and walked to the pedestal in the center of the room. She stood straight and tall, almost regal, and in this light, Jalik realized that her hair was not grey but silver, the color of a polished blade. “Father!” she called sharply.
The shade of the king of Carusoth appeared in the mirror before her. He blinked.
“Don’t tell me you recognized Jalik, whom you haven’t seen since he was an infant, but you don’t know who I am.”
“Radella . . .” said the figure in the mirror.
“Oh, you do know who I am. Dad, can I ask you a question?”
“Yes, my daughter.” Jalik’s eyes widened. He did have a sister. But ‘Radella’?
“Dad, forgive me for being so pissed off at this, but why did you tell Jalik he was the only heir?”
The king looked embarrassed. “Radella, we thought you had died. Forgive us, but by the time we got Jalik to safety, the city was overrun and you were gone. When your brother returned, it was enough of a shock for him to find out his true identity. I could not burden him with the knowledge that his sister was dead.”
“I think that’s insulting to both of us. Why is it such a shock that I’m here? Are you that superstitious, that you felt even the memory of me would be harmful?” She caught Jalik’s puzzled stare and said, “Traditionally, people born with white or silver hair are said to have been touched by fate. It’s usually a bad thing.” She turned back to the image of the king. “Well, Dad, I’m home. You gave Jalik the power to manifest. Is there anything left for me?”
The king bowed his head, and Silverthorn’s and Jalik’s eyes both went wide open as they realized the king was going to say no!
“Radella, we cannot give you the kind of power your brother has. There is not enough left. We can give you the ability to manifest, but we can never give you the godlike potential that Jalik now possesses. You will always be mortal.”
Silverthorn bowed her own head as the council members appeared. Jalik could feel their power go into her, but both he and Silverthorn knew that it was nothing compared to the awesome abilities Jalik would develop.
“Father!” he called suddenly. “There’s got to be something I can do!” Silverthorn looked about to cry, and Jalik realized how hideously unfair this was. She was the oldest, and she knew the kingdom, but the power had gone to him, who had never seen Carusoth before. Surely he could share his power . . .
“No, Jalik!” his father said, sharply. “Your power is within you now. It is not something that can ever be taken away from you, but neither can you give it away.”
Silverthorn spoke in a choking whisper. “Th . . . thank you, Father.”
The king looked at his daughter’s face. He frowned, then sighed. “Radella, look up!”
Silverthorn’s head snapped up. Jalik could tell she saw something, though he could not. Her expression changed to one of wonder, and she reached out. When she pulled her hand back, she held the sword.
It would have been a katana, if katanas had ever been six feet long. The blade was the same color as her hair, and looked as though it could slice the sunlight and leave it in pieces on the floor. The hilt was so black it glowed.
“The Sephimas . . . ” Silverthorn whispered. She slowly moved the sword back and forth. She held it out to Jalik. “Touch it,” she said. He put his hand on the hilt and shrugged.
“It’s cold,” he remarked.
“Not to my touch,” she replied. She held the sword vertically, with the hilt pointing to the floor, and put her left hand on the blade. Then she moved her hand downward in a quick movement that would probably have cut her hand in two if she had used more force. Jalik winced, but then Silverthorn smiled and showed him her hand. There was no blood; in fact, there was no mark at all.
“It’s my sword now,” she said. “It will be mine and only mine until I give it away, one of the greatest swords to ever exist. Even the shadow of this blade is dangerous.”
“Yes,” said the king, “so be careful with it. It is a considerable force and must be used carefully. It is an incredibly dangerous weapon. I didn’t want to bring it back into the world. I am placing a great deal of trust in you.”
“Oh, what, and Jalik’s manifestation isn’t dangerous? I’ll be fine, Dad. I love you. We’ll be back when we’ve beaten the crap out of this Shakik guy.” Silverthorn certainly had ceased to be a quiet person, thought Jalik.
“I love you both, my children,” said the king, and his figure vanished from the mirror.
Silverthorn and Jalik turned and headed back to the road to the outside world.
*
“May I ask you a question?” Jalik said as they walked.
“Sure, what?”
“If your name’s Radella, why did you introduce yourself as Silverthorn?”
“Oh. Sorry. Silverthorn was the name the Setri gave me, for my hair and my personality. Kashti just always called me Silver as a nickname. Radella is my birth name, but I’m more used to Silverthorn now. You can call me whatever you want, really.”
“Oh.” Jalik nodded, and they continued walking.
“Actually, Jalik, I’ve been thinking about something, too. Way back when Elehaym originally found the scrolls that sent us on these ‘weapon quest’ things, I remember that they said the weapons would be gained by facing a dangerous enemy -”
“-And we haven’t faced anything,” finished Jalik. “Well, Silver, I suppose if there’s some kind of monster, we’ll run into it.”
“Good,” said Silverthorn. “I need to try out my sword.”
