A Legacy of Blades - An Epic Tower Fantasy

The Blade Weaver sat in repose within his quarters as his students were granted entry. His pavilion stood near their village Elders' enclosure, a location given out of respect for his station and contributions throughout the years. None had done more in defense of their people than he, and no one would dispute his deservingness of the honor.

No one, that is, aside from the man himself, who found himself chafing at the irritation such formalities shackled him with.

"Ever do these prattling fools bestow unwanted gifts upon those who need them not. Better they save the space for those in need than present an old man with a formal prison."

The two knew their Master better than most anyone besides the Elders, who were doubtless aware of his feelings towards such honors, and knew he would rather stand watch on the outskirts than lie swaddled with safety. Even if he knew the events of his surroundings intimately, for the wind spoke to him as an old friend, he had neither the desire nor need to seek shelter under the guise of honor.

Still, he would not slight the people who wished to show respect to a man who had stood protector since the time of their parents, despite his awareness of the political machinations of the Elders.

"To make me their glorified bodyguard under the pretense of honoring the people, their efforts belie their self-interest. Come, sit with an old man. Tell me of the festival through a lens these eyes have forgotten."

The pair moved to their standard positions, aware of the watchful eyes of the guards at the entrance. Neither would ever show disrespect to their Master, regardless of any company, and gladly disarmed themselves in his presence. There was no safer place in the camp, but either student would protect their Master to the last breath.

"Master," Anilith began, "Might I ask a question first?"

"Ever the inquisitive one. Very well, ask your question and I will see if it is one I might answer."

"The ambush. It came on so suddenly and swept through the whole caravan. Did you see anything suggesting anything deeper behind it?"

The Blade Weaver closed his eyes and was quiet for a time. "The wind whispers, always, but its secrets are not always clear. I see much, this you know, but there are things beyond my senses. I saw nothing suggesting a grander plot."

"But, Master, surely you..."

"ENOUGH! I will hear no more of this. Now, tell me of the festival."

"Master," Anilith began again with her head bowed, abashed, "The festival is a wonder, even what little we have seen so far. The diversity of culture present is humbling and shows a breadth I had never imagined in our people. The food alone is beyond anything I'd considered possible."

Their Master replied with a smile, "Yes, young one. Even after all my years, the ingenuity of those blessed with an eye for cuisine is breathtaking. The experiments they undertake turn out ill as oft spectacular, but ever they push boundaries seen by no one else."

Anilith continued, "The tapestry of words each tribe has woven truly serves to shield its truth from outside eyes. From the most horrible to the beacons of honor, each bears an armor of history no outsider can see through. Each grain of truth is indiscernible from the lies woven around it, each a part of a grander picture of the people of the Moors."

A hard glint entered the Blade Weaver's eyes. "Your words strike true, my student, but never forget caution when peering in the realm of secrets. Many things lie hidden in the Moors, some guarded with abandon, some lost to memory. No secret comes without peril. The people and our land mercilessly protect the tapestry lest our armors be torn asunder. The perception of others can be our greatest shield and hide our greatest weaknesses."

Understanding that the statement was rhetorical, Temperance spoke up. "The artistry of our people shows ingenuity and innovation, which I find an inspiration. Already, my mind teems with ideas I had never deemed within the realm of what is possible. Just a glance through what weapons stand displayed, from the crudest to the most ornamental, suggests techniques with which I might broaden my craft."

"Even the most artfully crafted spear, never meant for battle, serves purpose in the hands of one who knows what it might leverage. Not all weapons are meant for mortal wounds, and not all fatal wounds are struck upon the body."

"Master, tell me, can I not learn from our brothers and sisters? Surely, we can only protect our people better if our craftsmen learn from one another?"

"As always, some secrets are kept most vigilantly, but the wind might whisper…"

Anilith could feel Temperance's excitement rising like warm fog off the peat bogs and knew the conversation between the two before her was only beginning to gain momentum. Almost without her knowing, she slipped into a state of meditation one might better term a daydream.

Sometime later, Anilith became acutely aware of a pressure on her shoulder. She only noticed the sensation when it crossed into the realm of discomfort, but her unconscious mind told her it had been an ongoing experience. In the evanescent way of dreams, she couldn't say if she'd spent seconds or hours in her state, but knew the truth lay somewhere in the middle.

She opened her eyes to see Temperance kneeling at her side. From the moment her eyes began to flutter, his grip noticeably relaxed. He had returned to his position in the span of four breaths.

"Apologies, Master. My attention lapsed, knowing I didn't have much to contribute by way of the conversation."

A tray with tea and hard tack lay before each of them, Temperance's having clearly been sampled.

"Worry not. A path lies before you, each, and we find ourselves at a crossroads. This is why I summoned you both, that we might enjoy the last steps we take together. One should always value the company of friends. Temperance, I believe, has found a way forward, but it is time to discuss your own."

The guards, more diligent than Anilith, stood at the ready with open eyes and ears. At a subtle motion from the Blade Weaver, the air around them stilled. A frown graced the face of each man by the entrance.

"That should allow us a measure of privacy for more pressing matters. This talk, from here out, is not for the ears of others."

Each student felt their posture straighten unconsciously at those words. Their Master held his cup before him, no motion disturbing the tea's surface.

"I have asked you often what you know of the Blade Weavers," the old man began, "but rarely have I passed down any of my own knowledge, except where it stood of import. Now, we must speak of secrets: secrets that the Elders have long implored my forebears and I pass into their care, 'that they might preserve such vaunted history.' I tell you now, if ever this story fades, it is the will of the Founder. If that day, we have failed our duty."

Temperance shifted uncomfortably. "Honored Blade Weaver, I will dismiss myself, by your leave. I am unworthy of such secrets."

An edge entered their Master's voice. "You will do no such thing. You have your own place in our history, for not every individual in our line is a Blade Weaver. Where there is a Blade, so must there be a Shield. Every Master is tasked with finding their students among the tribes, but the Blade must find their own Shield."

"You know, already, of our greater history, at least in part. That we have ever held a presence in these lands from the time of our Founding, a blade to guard the helpless and stand within the breach. Today, a precedent shall break that has withstood the test of ages, such is the need of our people."

He paused to sip his tea.

"In all our history, but one member of our ranks has ever attempted the Trial of Empowerment. Our role has never been to strive for greater heights, merely to accept our duty to the people with grace. I hold no doubt in my heart that many have struggled with this calling." A chuckle escaped him. "I, myself, in the arrogance of youth, wished to challenge the Tower. I believed I could better serve the people if I held greater strength."

"I…" Anilith couldn't hide her shock. Her Master, a hero to her people. The thought of him having any untapped potential whatsoever seemed impossible. "I can't imagine anyone stronger than you."

A wry smile stole across his face. "If only that were true, young one. I am but a breeze moving petals before the tempests of the skies. The scope of power is not something one can grasp before knowing one's own powerlessness. Know that there are things in the dark corners of our land before which I stand no greater than a child."

"My Master knew this, as did his before that, but he never forsook his duty: a duty set before him by the will of the Founder. A duty he fulfilled to his last breath, with joy."

A distant look overtook him as he was momentarily lost in the world of memory.

"Little is said of our ancestral Founder, and what knowledge persists is precious. No stories tell of her life before greatness; Our history begins on the day she took up the mantle of Chosen, a different beast in her time. Before that day, she was lost as the ghosts that line our long histories: a nameless face in the margins, never spoken of in Legend. She was as the people she came to champion, invisible."

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"Once, she walked this very land, in the days when ruin had not come to all you see. Once, this was a city, a village larger than any the people yet inhabit, a city of stone that withstood millennia and stood testament to our people's greatness. Its name is now lost to history. As its ruins testify, sadly, nothing lasts eternal. As is too often the case, its downfall started as a rot within the hearts of man."

He paused again, whether truly to sip his tea or simply for effect, his students couldn't tell.

"The Founder was born of this era, and she knew the squabbling nature of her fellows. She saw the beginnings of discordance even then. In those days, the tribes were one people, not fractured as we now stand. The Founding Mother sought to protect them all, suspecting unity stood in the balance. Know that I have not always dwelt among and protected your tribe alone. Such is her will, such is our charge. We are fractured, but one."

"On the day of her Challenge, she stood before the people and declared her purpose, 'I fight for the helpless. Power is a tool only fit for the service of others, and nothing I do is in its pursuit alone. I go now that I might return to better protect my brothers and sisters. If I should fall, know that I go willingly for my love of our people and our persevering honor.'"

"The stories say she was gone so long, the people were all but certain of her demise. They believed, as people always do when the days grow darkest, to be living at the end of all things. She was discounted as just another failed Chosen, Challengers, the stories say they were called. The descent of her people, our people, into unrecognizable separate tribes was gradual, hardly visible before it hit a tipping point. Those days would become known as the Fracturing, when one people became many. The Elders do not speak of this and keep it a guarded truth, but they cannot deny us our history. It was then that she returned to us, it was then that the Blade Weavers were born."

At a pause, the students savored the taste of their tea while their Master collected his thoughts.

"The Tower is cruel and unpredictable in its timing. Most believe that the Tower returns champions, those who overcome its trials, at the most opportune time. She was lost far longer than most. The Founder returned to find infighting had brought destruction to her home. While the city had not fallen to the state you see now, she returned to find a world changed. She left a people who showed only early signs of the discord to come, but returned to find a people at war with themselves. In their ignorance, they attacked the Founder, no longer aware of what Empowerment truly meant. She was a stranger, a threat to the status quo."

The Master took a bite of his hardtack, swallowed, and continued with a sigh.

"She was a far greater threat than they could have realized. No mercy was shown to those who disregarded her warnings, and the only things greater than the blood she spilled were the tears she wept at her actions, knowing their necessity. Her people were lost beyond words, and rivers flowed in her wake as she swept through the lands, seeking out the scattered tribes. Never did she raise her blade without warning, without a chance of surrender, but rarely were her efforts rewarded with a bloodless day. She never sought the mantle of conqueror, only wished to bring a semblance of unity to a dissonant people, a people who had forgotten their heart."

"Their blood stained her hands and weighed upon her heart for the rest of her days. Through necessary violence she brought, not submission, but reunion. Never again, to this day, would our people truly be whole, but neither are we separate."

"As long as our order has stood guard over the people, the Founder's words have echoed through time. 'My school shall hold the line, protecting the people without care for the lines that we draw. None shall Empower themselves, but be the watchers who bear witness against all threats, from without and within. Under our care shall the people flourish and move towards One until a day may come that, in our darkest hour, a champion is Chosen, that my Legacy might be fulfilled."

"This knowledge is hidden, passed down only at the passing of a Master, that no Blade Weaver fall victim to the arrogance of youth, for we would not be the ones to suffer, but the people. No warrior of the people is immune to the promise of greatness at being Chosen, but never has that been our place, and never since has there been a Chosen skilled as was the Founder."

"Prophecy, as her words have been called, is a water muddied and brackish. Only once the murk settles can meaning truly be found in its depths. Countless Masters and their successors have known the truth that they were not to be Chosen, and been content in that knowledge, for their presence brings peace to the people."

"Our people have suffered and overcome, but never in the tales of the Ekreeti have the lands so moved against us. The time has come for a Blade Weaver to again be Chosen. I hold no doubt that the time has come, and the line would have broken had the Masters not held firm to the Founder's convictions. You, young one, come at the appointed hour. My greatest trial, and my greatest pride, is knowing I was worthy to be your Master, but unworthy to be Chosen myself. Still, I find mournful joy in my heart that only a teacher of greatness might know."

Anilith stood on the parade grounds, a crowd the likes of which she'd never known gathered around in witness. She was less alone than she'd ever been in her life, but more isolated at the same moment. Behind her, she felt the stares of her family and friends, her Master's most keenly from his post near her village Elders.

Each of the seventeen tribes had selected a Chosen, an anomaly from past festivals. Countless generations had seen multiple Chosen from each village, but this Trial was different. Only the best warriors were given the opportunity at Empowerment. Each Chosen, back to their tribe, stood facing the yawning pit at the center of the camp.

Drumming disturbed the ceremony as, from each direction, a procession marched into the dead city. Iskaal warriors and their tribes had come to join the proceedings. The Elders stood showing no surprise, but the people knew nothing of this invitation. A pall of silence fell over the camp.

The vigor of their drums met deafening silence from the people until the foreign procession reached the city's center. When nothing but the sound of the wind could be heard, the Elders, assembled near the pit, sounded with one voice, "We bid welcome to our honored allies."

The drumming resumed with a low and sonorous message, inviting anyone to challenge their presence. No voice was heard but that of the wind itself.

The Blade Weaver and other respected heroes of the tribes stepped forward, and even the wind was silenced. Together they intoned, "Long have we formed a symbiotic relationship with our neighbors, but never have we welcomed them into this, our most sacred land. Today, we forsake our rights to send forth more of our people in the hopes that our cooperation might further our shared survival. We fight now against greater odds than our ancestors have known, and we do so knowing that this may be our final stand. The lands themselves revolt against us; Only a fool would cast out their neighbor in the face of such adversity."

Four Iskaal warriors stepped forth, joining the ranks of the Chosen. The drumming reached a crescendo as the speakers shouted together, "Tower, hear our call, accept our offering and return to us the greatest among them, that we might live to see another cycle!"

A sudden lurching sensation, as if she was suddenly hurled through the air, from a dead stop to mind-boggling speeds in a flash, caused Anilith's stomach to heave in protest. One moment she was standing with her generation's Chosen, the next she was gods knew where, blanketed in darkness. Despite feeling her insides lurch, an awful sinking feeling threatened to swallow her from within when she recalled those final moments before the blackout.

Olina, being only four years old, didn't fully understand why Anilith had to take this opportunity and leave her and Will. Surely someone other than her precious Lolly, the only person left who could make her feel safe and not so scared when bedtime came, could risk climbing the stupid Tower. Still, she was proud of her sister and had felt nothing wrong in the days leading up to the ceremony.

Now, she wasn't so sure. A nagging worm of doubt crept upon her. It came on slowly, but with each passing moment, it grew until there was no denying: Something wasn't right.

Didn't Lolly know she needed her there?

Didn't Lolly understand she wasn't going to be just fine? Temperance was nice and all, and sure, he had been a good friend to them since… No, Olina didn't like to think about that.

What comfort could the blacksmith give her that was better than a Lolly hug and a head pat?

Olina had thought it would be okay, but now she found herself wondering how Lolly couldn't see that everything wasn't going to be just fine if she just ran off chasing the climb. For all her smarts, Lolly could be really dumb sometimes.

Glancing at all the arranged Chosen, she knew less than a handful stood any chance of coming back. They all thought they were Chosen, even Lolly, even the Iskaal, but at that moment, Olina knew better. They thought they would be fine, but they didn't know. How could they?

Olina knew, though. Sometimes she didn't know how she knew things; she just did. When she saw Lolly with all the other challengers, lined up and ready to enter the Tower, Olina felt the wrongness of it in her core. She had to get to her sister.

Lolly was most definitely not in for a quick and painless trip, and she certainly wasn't going to be back hearty and hale in a fortnight or less like all the legends of glory passed down from past Chosen.

Even if she couldn't articulate these feelings, Olina knew them to be true. They had to be, because the only other time she'd felt this wrongness so viscerally was when their parents… but she hadn't said anything. She might have failed back then, but she wouldn't fail her Lolly, too.

"Lolly, you can't leave me here," Olina muttered under her breath, hardly aware she'd spoken.

Will just shook his head and watched, wiping away tears and trying to be strong like people always told him. People could be so stupid. They hid so much they forgot how to listen to themselves, not Olina, though.

Temperance noticed her moving forward and, with arms like steel cables, held her fast as she became increasingly frantic in her attempts to escape. The size difference was just too great, and her efforts held no merit.

Knowing the moment would pass her by, Olina's body moved of its own volition. Doing something she'd promised Lolly she'd never do again, her foot caught Temperance in the softest place left on his body.

His grip slackened while his eyes bulged. That momentary lapse in control was all the wiry little girl needed to slip free.

She started running to Lolly, whose eyes were widening in terror, when she felt a hand, not much larger than her own, grab her arm.

Determination shone through Willem's eyes: determination to keep his sister safe, determination to make Anilith proud, and determination to hold together what family he had left.

In that instant, she instinctively pushed with everything she had so that he might understand, so that he might feel even a fraction of the wrongness that threatened to consume them.

He let her hand fall free.

Tears he couldn't hold back any longer streamed from his eyes, fear pushing back at Olina through their moment of connection. In that moment, she felt his fear of losing his sisters, his fear of being alone, and his fear gave her pause for just an instant before she bolted.

She had to save Lolly from making a stupid grown-up mistake, like grown-ups always seem to make. She had to save her, and then they would all be okay. They'd see.

The words around Olina began to only vaguely register as her feet hit the pavers of the parade grounds. The world exploded with color. All at once, Olina saw every color, and she saw none of them.

'A brilliant absence of brilliance.'