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It was all my fault.
First there was my clumsy attempt to save my parents, which had brought along spying demons, and two parents who were unable to talk, or do anything except lie in bed, without help; then there was my stupid idea to try to contact Giancarlo, as if the blademaster of my father, my own blademaster, would not have fallen already into the hands of the dark lord…
But what exactly had happened, when we’d scryed Giancarlo? Giancarlo had been my father’s blademaster, my own, and also the blademaster of my uncle, who now called himself the dark lord. Why had we been attacked when we’d scryed him, and who had attacked us? It must have been the dark lord, or his minions, but why? Why kill Marga? What had we been about to discover?
It was frus
trating.
If there was no way to empty my mind, at least I could fill my stomach. I chewed on another roll.
When I had finished eating and my plate before me was empty, I walked over to the kitchen, and left my plate soaking in a basin of water. Two bakers were working, but not Karsten, and that filled me with a bittersweet mix of disappointment and relief. I walked out of the cafeteria and into the sunlight.
The sun warmed my skin just as the hot food warmed my stomach. It was hard to worry in the early morning sun. Full of food I walked towards Woltan’s apartment. The two weeks I’d been away seemed like far longer, just as the short weeks I’d been Woltan’s student had seemed like months. All together I’d been there for around a month. How long would it take my uncle, the dark lord, to move an army? To prepare a battle? And I’d been on my back for two weeks, doing nothing but trying to heal. I shook my head. It was hard to stay positive. My sword knocked against my leg and I put my hand down to the pommel, instinctively, to steady it, and then I froze.
A shock ran through my arm and through my body, and then Carolina was there, in front of me, blocking my vision.
She wasn’t smiling. She seemed in a rage, her face red with fury.
Why haven’t you contacted me in the last two weeks?
I shrugged. Why hadn’t I contacted her? Had I been too busy lying down in bed and feeling sorry for myself? It was a hard question to answer, more so to someone in my mind, blocking off all my vision.
She stared down at me, imperious. I felt very small, and had to remember that Carolina was just a tiny pixie housed in the pommel of my sword.
You have not even learned to shield your mind from me. I’m not trying to pry, and yet I hear everything. You think I’m tiny; yet if you were in my world, you would find me as tall or taller than you; and so it is right that I look down upon you. Anders Tomason, you should have talked to me sooner!
You are right, of course.
There was no point in arguing with someone who had full access to my mind.
I’m glad you’ve realized that at last, because there are a lot of things I need to tell you. The first thing is that people are staring at you.
I noticed, embarrassed, that the street was no longer empty. I went and sat down on a bench, and people stopped looking at me.
You will want to know about your uncle now, I think. I could have told you as much as Marga, and spared you that death.
I felt like a fool, and it hurt too, what she said. I wanted to be angry but instead I just felt ashamed. Why hadn’t I thought to ask her?
We all make mistakes. I could have shocked you into contacting me, too, and I should have. Please don’t be too hard on yourself — you are young, although I’m sure you’re tired of hearing that. I am much older and should have been more vigilant, and shielded both of you. My attention was elsewhere, and I feel the same shame as you. We must work as a team from now on.
I know I have a lot to learn.
Carolina smiled then. It is hard for me to remember what it was like to be so young. You are the youngest sword bearer I have ever served. Accept my apologies for my harsh words; I am impatient trapped in this fairy house, all the more so when you do not talk to me and I cannot contact you, and help you in your trials.
I thought time passed more slowly for your kind?
She smiled again. They’ve always called me the impatient one. My mother was afraid I was part human, once. Everything is relative; for a human I am incredibly patient, for a pixie I am very impatient. That is why I chose to serve in a sword, because I craved action.
What did you want to tell me?
Now that I have scolded you I will tell you. You know that the sword and I have been passed down from generation to generation, correct?
Yes.
What you may not know is that never has there been a blade as strong as the one you wield; not even the first blade, twenty-five generations back, although that sword at least was forged whole, not of fragments.
Twenty-five generations?
