The Swordsmen

A tale of arms and men

Sit down, listen close, and I’ll tell you the story of our origin. I was created by a swordsmith who smelt of ash. It was the same day as the birth of his son, therefore we both received the name Abram. The swordsmith’s dusty hut was in an ancient forest, far from where we are today. It had the same scent as the pine trees that encircled it. 

I hung from a comfortably smooth stone wall alongside my six brothers: Shadowsteel, Thunderhilt, Cavernfang, Sunblade, Moonblade, and Windcutter. In the mornings the sunlight would pour through the open window, enveloping us in its delightful heat. Those days were idyllic.

The swordsmith was a tall man, strong too. He could have used any of us to fight, but he was a pacifist, the ash that defined his scent was the ash of the forge, not of destruction.

One day, men from the empire came to the swordsmith’s hut. They wanted to destroy all weapons, believing their mere existence caused war, that swords could only bring death. In response this is what the swordsmith said:

“Must everything be made to be used? Must every battle be to the death?”

What do you think these men- who said they wanted to end war- did when they were refused? They killed him, they killed the swordsmith, they killed my father.

We were not afforded time to mourn. The killers went after us next, setting fire to the hut. The other Abram only had time to grab me and run, panicked sweat soaking my sheath. My brothers were all seized by the invaders. I wanted nothing more than to go back and cut them apart. I thought of the other Abram as a coward. A hateful envy of humans rose up from within me. I could do nothing on my own, while humans shaped the world to their will.

One of the empire’s soldiers followed us. Our path was cut off by a wide river, one that screamed endlessly as it raged against the rocks intruding on it. We were cornered, and so there was no choice but for us to fight. The hand that moved me shook with uneven desperation, but my own killing intent was more than firm enough to compensate.

I cut through the enemy with such speed and force that I hardly remember what it felt like, only the rotten taste and smell of blood. In return our enemy had landed a blow that brought the other Abram to his knees. The river’s fearsome screeching seemed even louder, drowning all other sounds.

Once the joy of revenge faded, I was left with emptiness, my blade tarnished with blood. The other Abram, a pacifist like his father, weeped. Blood dripped from the tip of my blade. We remained like that for sometime. Then I turned my anger against him.

“How could you flee after what they did to us? You let my brothers be taken away to their death. I am ashamed to share a name with a coward like you.”

“It’s because of you they came to us in the first place. If it weren’t for you swords my father and I could have continued our peaceful lives.”

If I could, I would have left him at that moment. Instead a voice called for us to stop bickering. We looked to its source; a witch dressed in green appeared from the forest.

She was a frail old woman, but her posture was refined, each movement masterful and intentional.

“Cease your fighting and let me heal you,” the witch ordered. She knelt down and spoke a prayer as she touched the other Abram. “Come with me. It’s not safe here.” The witch walked back into the forest. The other Abram rose up, holding onto me, and followed her with a limp. I felt remorse for my harsh words when I realized why he was walking so oddly. Humans are not as easily repaired as a sword.

He told the witch what happened to us. She seemed most interested in the fact that we had the same name. We arrived at the witch’s small hut, even smaller than the swordsmith’s hut. It was made of sturdy wood, and had a damp smell to it that mixed with the fragrance of the flowers encircling it. The other Abram sat down in a chair, placing me on the table in front of him. Across from us was the witch.

“You are two halves of one whole, you shouldn’t fight each other. And you have important work ahead of you. Your brothers will be destroyed in front of an audience tomorrow, you must go to the capital of the empire and save them.”

The other Abram looked at me. We apologized to each other, and he cleaned the blood off of me. My counterpart wondered how we could stand against the empire with his lingering injury. As a sword, my strength was the same as my wielder’s. Inexperience was bad enough, an injury seemed damning. And we wanted a way without further bloodshed, to stay true to the beliefs passed down from our creator. In response the witch said these words:

“There is another task destined for you. On the path to the empire’s capital, there is a pyramid. Do not leave the path until you reach the pyramid. Ascend it, and at dawn, you will know how to save your kin. If you are not there at dawn, your hope will be lost. Now sleep, and when I wake you up, you will have the time you need for your journey,” the witch said. My counterpart took the bed that was offered and slept.

I had been leaned against the wall of the hut. It was empty, cold, and bumpy. The greatest struggle was resisting the urge to dwell in the memories and sorrow of what had happened. It all felt unreal to me. I would have likely fallen into madness without the mission of rescuing my brothers.

At last the time of our departure came. The witch woke up my counterpart and handed me to him. We stepped outside into the light of the full moon. The forest around us felt as dark as a cave, the trees stealing as much light as they could. We forged ahead regardless, trusting our instincts.

The first obstacle was a fallen tree that blocked our path. It was a thick heavy tree, one so strong its current state was a testament to the power of whatever felled it. My counterpart tried to climb over it, but his malfunctional leg betrayed him. “Let me cut through it. This tree is already dead,” I argued.

“Even a dead tree can offer something, animals can dig inside it. Forests have their own cycle of life and death, we shouldn’t disrupt it.”

“We are part of that cycle as well, and perhaps cutting it in two will benefit some other creature. There is no time to argue and only one solution, unless you wish to risk ignoring the instructions of a witch.” With that he conceded my point and put me to use. The tree was difficult to cut through, or perhaps it felt more difficult because I did not hate it like the soldier. Regardless we reforged our path and continued.

Our second obstacle offered us little warning, save a prideful howl. Wolves surrounded us, short and dense with the thrill of a hunt. We couldn’t fault them, it was their nature to see the likes of us as prey. My counterpart unsheathed me once again. I was held towards the largest of the wolves. “Strike now, a few good hits will make them retreat,” I advised.

“I won’t be the one to turn this stand-off into a fight. They may be carnivores, but that doesn’t make them deserving of violence. Though I will need you to speak in a language they know.” He leapt up in the air, spinning me around in a circle, my sharp edge pointed downwards at the wolves. The wolves looked at his weak leg, then at me. They stepped away from us and moved on, seeking another target. 

My counterpart remained still. When the sound of the wolves faded away, he fell. I dug myself into the ground, supporting him like a small tree. He rose back up to his feet. “Placing an already damaged part of yourself at risk is nonsensical. You’re making it worse,” I said.

“Perhaps, but my gambit worked. If they attacked I would have retaliated, but this delay is less than what a full battle would have been.” He was correct, so I didn’t argue. There was an opening in the trees that taunted us with the sight of the moon descending towards the horizon. The moon moved so swiftly through the sky it was like it was racing us.

From that point onward we remained cautious, avoiding the roots that would sabotage us. Then at last, we made it to the clearing where the pyramid resided.

What the witch had neglected to mention were the surroundings of the pyramid; it was at the center of a graveyard. Snakes slithered between gravestones. Some of the snakes spied on us from behind the gravestones. The scent of corpse flowers began their assault on us. The moon had nearly vanished. There was no time to indulge in fear.

My counterpart climbed up the stairs of the pyramid, carefully stepping over the shed skin that the snakes had left behind. The ascent was long enough for me to think about something other than our time limit. We did not have a chance to hold a funeral for our creator, to make a gravestone for him. The fire would have left nothing to bury, his ashes indistinguishable from that of our home.

We reached the flat top of the pyramid, which was higher than any tree in the forest. We stood at the center, between three stones. A chrysalis rested on each of the four corners. Both of us began to have doubts about waiting at the pyramid instead of continuing to the capital, but we stayed put. One should always follow the instructions of a witch carefully, for they are the brides of fate.

The break of dawn melted our inaction. My counterpart lifted me up, sunlight reflecting off of my blade. Then I pierced his heart. Flames rose up around us. Veins formed inside me, carrying his blood, my blood. Flesh entwined itself with my steel.

My counterpart underwent a similar change, steel entwining itself with his flesh. A third arm grew out from under his right arm, its hand gripped me and fused with my hilt. I had control of our third arm, and I used it to pull myself out of our heart. Butterflies emerged from the four chrysalises and flew off into the new day.

“What are we?” my human half asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered. The morning light made the world seem vast and incomprehensible. Our gaze landed on a city at the edge of the forest. It was a small part of the landscape, yet we knew that was our destination.

Our transformation had repaired our damaged leg, and nothing in the forest dared to approach us. That was good, because every sensation was unbearably sharp to us. We were like a child learning to walk for the first time, unused to moving as one, the sword arm and right arm often colliding. It was a long trek to the capital, giving us time to adapt to our new form.

There were guards at the capital’s gate, but when they saw us, they ran away. I forced my blade into the gate’s ostentatious metal and carved open an entrance for us.

Our six brothers were suspended over a fire alongside six men. They were swordsmen who had been caught practicing their art. A crowd had gathered to watch, eagerly anticipating when the flames would leap up and melt its victims. A few screams about a monster were all it took to bring the attention to us. Soldiers surrounded us, while the flock of onlookers ran away.

We were attacked on all sides. The soldiers were a horde, like ants moving as one to rip apart an enemy. My human half pressed forward, shoving his way through the mob. I attempted to disarm the soldiers, but that didn’t stop any of them. Our skin was armor, but armor is not invulnerable. We felt the pain of each strike as our skin dented from the ceaseless onslaught.

“Is there truly no way to save our brothers without fighting, without killing? Is this the nature of swords and men, despite what father believed?” my other half questioned. We fell to the ground, and the assault continued.

“Perhaps it is our nature to fight to the death- swords, humans, and us. We do not blame the wolves for hunting. I suppose we were all fools thinking ourselves different, and the time to accept reality has come,” I said. As I spoke I parried any strike that I could.

“We may not be above the cycle of violence, but we are different from the wolves. We have the power to escape it, even if only for a brief time. Yet now I see the irony of our escape, even that road is stained with blood.”

With new resolve, we forced ourselves back onto our feet. Our other two arms became blades. We retaliated, moving in perfect synchronization. We killed. We did so with purpose, clearing the way to our brothers.

The flames had grown during the ordeal, and there was no way to quell them. So we ran into them. “Trust me, this is the only way,” my other half said to the swordsmen. He took each of our brothers: Shadowsteel, Thunderhilt, Cavernfang, Sunblade, Moonblade, and Windcutter, and thrust them into the heart of each swordsman. I chanted a prayer.

Like us, the swords and the humans became one. The flames of execution turned into the flames of the forge. “Let us leave, and this senseless violence can finally end,” we decreed to the remaining soldiers.

Nobody prevented us from leaving the city. There was a dead silence as we walked through the gate. However, there was no point in returning to where our homes used to be, the empire would only resume the conflict. Instead we led our fellow swordsmen away from the empire and all of its wars.

As we traveled, we sometimes found new companions to join us. And eventually we arrived here in the Armored Valley where our tribe now lives, where we built the monument to the swordsmith. Now, children of our tribe, remember to give your thanks to the witch of the forest. And to give your thanks to the swordsmith, our great progenitor.