FicWad

It's been ten years since you died.

Ten years since the battle that seemed to last for hours yet went by in minutes. It was a battle between good and evil, brother against brother.

And I was unable to save you, Father.

I know it wasn't my fault. I know that if I had the power of healing, I would have healed you instantly, and everything would have been all right, but it didn't work out that way.

I wasn't much of a fighter back then, and that hasn't changed.

Before I go any further, I should tell you here and now that this is not a letter, or a dream, but my thoughts as I stand here before the case where our family heirloom rests. It looks unused and lonely. I should also tell you that many things have changed since your death. Our quiet village of Selestia is not so quiet now that the people of the Anvar kingdom know about our existence and the war that the knights of Anvar battled in to help save our lives.

****

I remember the day of your death very clearly; it is a memory that always haunts me, for the mistakes and sacrifices that were made, promises that were broken. I held the sword that you passed down to me, our family heirloom, with a firm grasp in my hand, eyes focused on the darkened figure of Zeriphan, your brother, who was approaching me.

When I first saw Zeriphan, I had no idea what connections I had to him. Though I'm adopted, he was my foster uncle, which made him family, but also an enemy. He wanted darkness to take hold of the world where light held it, which was not the way of the people in our small, secluded village of Selestia.

The sky above was dark; there was no sunlight, and the wind was cold, blowing against us and trying to knock us down with all of its might. We stood in a large clearing of the forest that we lived in. The only trees nearby were those that surrounded the boundaries of the clearing. Behind Zeriphan stood his creatures with distorted, ugly faces and long claws coming from the ends of their fingers. There were about twenty of them, and only nine of us. Our odds did not seem great.

At first, there was an eerie silence between him and me, as the cries of men on both sides disappeared into nothing. The battle had begun.

Everything was centered around us.

Our blades crossed, and we began to battle. We said nothing. We both stood defending what we believed in: he, the fact that my sword and the Book of Soren belonged to him; me, trying to keep my friends and family alive.

The weak light from the sun shone onto the silver blade of the sword I held in my hands. I knew in my heart that I had to do whatever I could to make sure it didn't fall into Zeriphan's hands. I could feel the power beginning to rise through and overwhelm me; such power and responsibility all held in one simple sword.

Zeriphan stood back after a few moments, eyeing the sword as he spoke. "That sword is not yours to have, Azura. It belongs to me. Your blood is not that of a D'Crat. Give it to me now, and your friends will not die."

"Don't you understand? It doesn't have to be D'Crat blood. I'm as much a part of the D'Crat family as you and my father. I won't let you have it," I said.

"Then you will watch your friends die one by one, and will die after them," Zeriphan said angrily.

Once again he attacked, his attacks becoming harder to defend, but I did my best. During our battle, he pulled his sword back from mine and raised his foot up, giving a hard kick to my fist and sending my sword flying.

I cried out in pain, watching as the sword went flying before looking back at him. He lifted his foot again, aiming for my stomach and sending a hard kick to it, knocking the wind out of me as I fell to the ground. We had been so concentrated in battle that I had failed to realize that the knights of Anvar had arrived. I had journeyed all the way to Anvar, setting foot outside of the forest for the first time since you had brought me there to live, to request to the King to form an alliance with Selestia. After I went before the Council of Anvar to plead my case, the King agreed to send his men to help our cause.

Zeriphan stood over me, staring down. He lifted the blade of his sword, about to strike. Just as I rolled out of the way, I felt his blade scrape against my arm.
"Ah!" I cried, looking at my arm as blood trickled down it before I rolled over and stood.

As I stood, I looked up to see Zeriphan moving toward you, Father, while you were fighting one of his men with your back turned. Zeriphan walked quickly toward you, blade in hand, and came up behind you as you fought. When you had stopped fighting, you turned just in time to stare into Zerihan's eyes as he thrust the blade into your stomach.

"And the blood of a true D'Crat ran down the silver blade once more, shrouded in darkness," Zeriphan yelled.

I turned after killing one of Zeriphan's minions and saw Zeriphan's blade in your stomach, his hand still on the handle, blood beginning to soak your shirt.

"Father! No!" I yelled.

Everyone turned as Zeriphan pulled the blade out, now covered in blood, and you fell to the ground, your cloak and shirt now a deep blood stained color.

Zeriphan stood over you, laughing. I ran toward your body, not realizing that he had left and was running quickly into the forest with the small remainder of his men running behind him.

I kneeled down by your body, laying your head in my lap and placing the sword on the ground. I touched your shirt and lifted my hand to see your blood on my fingertips. "Father . . ." I said.

"Take . . . care of the sword, Azura. Guard it well," you said, trying to regain your breath between words.

Slowly, your eyes closed and your chest stopped moving up and down, taking your final breath. I sat there with your head in my lap, tears strolling down my cheeks. I had failed you, and it had cost you your life.

***

It's been ten years since your death.

Do you remember the game we would play when I was a little girl? You would pick me up and twirl me around like a child twirling the stem of a dandelion between two fingers. My face was the center of the flower, my freckles and bright, rosy five year old cheeks the sun colored petals. My laughter echoed through our home, and I called out your name happily.

Those were the days before you were my master, teaching me the ways of magic. You were just my father, and I your daughter. Our relationship was new- five years- but refreshing and full of adventure for the two of us.

I miss those days, Father. I always did, and yearned for those days to return to me while I was your apprentice.

I stand in front of the case that we placed the sword in after your death. The glass is dusty; the sword looks unused, the blade covered with dust.

After your death, I let Riordan, who is now my husband, teach me the basics of swordplay but after a while I wanted to stop. I asked that the sword go back in the case, not to be touched again until we had children and they would be ready to have the sword as their own.

I narrow my eyes as my thoughts continue to deepen. After a moment I look up to find my brother's reflection staring back at me from behind.

Yes. /Brother/. I always wondered if I had any family left from my biological parents, and I found out the day after your death. Sereven, my animal familiar and dearest friend, is my older brother by five years, who had been placed under a spell by an enchantress for refusing to marry her. I had always felt a strong connection to him, but had never imagined that he was my older brother. Suddenly his jealousy of my relationship with Riordan made sense to me, and I regretted giving the little attention I did while I was courting Riordan.

Sereven stands taller than me, brown shoulder length hair pulled back into a short ponytail. His dark blue eyes stare back at me in the glass case. He wears a simple tunic and long brown pants, and a belt around his waist where a short sword hangs at his side.

"What are you thinking about, Mystic Child?" he asks, breaking the silence and using the nickname he gave me when we first met.

I give a small smile, resting my hands on my fat stomach. "My father," I say softly. "It's been ten years."

"Hard to believe, isn't it? Ten years since we found each other . . ." he asks.

I turn toward him, "A lot of things have changed, but I'm still curious about something."

He frowns, "Such as?"

"I had another dream, Sereven. I was in that cottage . . . you were holding me as a baby, and Mother was watching us. Then it changed, and there was lots of smoke in the sky . . . I remember looking around and seeing flames, and our cottage on fire. I . . ." I blink, trying to fight back the tears as I turn my head away, biting my lower lip.

"Azura," Sereven says, reaching his left hand up and placing a fingertip on my chin, using it to turn my head toward him, "What you saw . . . you can't be sure that it was something that really happened."

I shake my head, "It felt too real, Sereven. You know as well as I do that I've never been too sure about what my main ability is when it comes to magic, and for me to have reoccurring dreams like this has to mean something."

Sereven nods, sighing. He puts his arms out and pulls me toward him, wrapping me in a hug. "Don't stress yourself over it, Az. It won't do you or the baby any good."

I smile and lay my head on his chest as I hugged him, "I know, Sereven. It just . . . scares me." I turn to look at the case the sword was in. "This sword has gone many years unused."

"Do you want to take up your training again?" he asks.

I hesitate, lifting my head as I looked at the sword. I could see the Moon Crystal on the handle of the blade shining within, its light reflecting in the dusty glass. "After the baby is born, perhaps," I answer. "I don't want to be completely defenseless while Riel and this little one are so young since you and Riordan are gone so much. I don't want to go back to using this sword, but I will to defend my children." I step out of his arms and walk toward the table that the case rested on, placing a hand on top of it.

"Azura, do you remember what Master Lorran told you the day we left to go to Anvar for the first time?" Sereven asks.

I nod, remembering what the leader of our village had told me that day. "He told me that I have a destiny I'm not quite sure of, and he thought I might be able to find it on my journey . . . but most importantly, I would find myself."
Sereven places a hand on my shoulder, "Think about his words, little sister. Take them to heart. Even after ten years, they still mean something."

I nod and started to say something but my five year old son, with his brownish-red hair and dark blue-grey eyes, comes running in, running to cling to his uncle's leg.

"Hi, Uncle Sereven!" Riel says.

Sereven laughs and pulls his nephews small hands from his legs, picking him up in his arms, "Hello there, Riel. Did you have fun in the forest with Master Lorran?"

"Yep! Master Lorran taught me how to grow a flower with magic!" Riel answers, smiling brightly up at his uncle.

"He did, did he?" I ask, reaching up to wipe away at some dirt marks on his cheeks with my finger.

"Mamma, what's that?" he asks, pointing to the sword laying in the case.

My eyes follow to where he's pointing and I glance at Sereven, wondering if I should tell him. He's going to find out eventually, I think as Sereven gives a helpless shrug.

"That, Riel, is my sword. Your grandfather passed it down to me when I turned eighteen, and someday it will be yours," I answer.

"What's it called?" he asks.

I frown, surprised at his question; for such a small child, my son had such great knowledge that it overwhelmed me at times. "Why do you think it has a name?"

"Because Father's sword has a name. He told me," Riel answers.

I think about this before answering; as far as I knew, Riordan hadn't named his sword. So where had Riel gotten this from?

"What do you think it should be named?" Sereven asks.

"I dunno," Riel answers with a small giggle.

I smile softly, "Its name is the Sword of Destiny. This sword, Riel, is part of your destiny."

"Oh," Riel says, giving a shrug.

"Riel, tell me about what Master Lorran taught you," Sereven says, and Riel begins to tell him of his adventures.

As I look upon my son, I realize a couple of things. One of them is that I shouldn't blame myself for your death. As I look back on that day, there wasn't anything I could have done for you. I am no healer, and by the time we finished the battle and found a healer, it would have been too late. Most of all, I needed to say all of this to you, Father, and to tell you how proud I was, and still am, to be your daughter.

The other thing I've realized is most important. The sword is not just a sword or an heirloom. It is the Sword of Destiny. The sword of my destiny.


The End