“Gosh!, mummy! Today is such a good day!” Jirot declared, closing her eyes as her mother brushed her hair.
“Why is that?” Vonda replied, slipping a clip within her hair, while little Jarot rubbed his eye, the bath having woken him up, but slumber continued to call for him.
“I do not know,” Jirot admitted, however, her beaming smile remained upon her face, even as she hugged her sister, who had awoken after their morning baths, as well as her cousin, who sat beside little Jarot.
“Poh’idge,” Virot asked, the girl so eager to eat that morning, as she was every morning.
“If you want porridge, I will ask for porridge, and you can eat porridge,” Virot assured, kissing her sister’s forehead.
Once they were sitting within their estates, along with their aunts and uncles, the Iyrmen noted how chipper the little girl was. Some expected trouble, especially the fool of a greatfather whose trouble they had inherited, but as the minutes passed, they noted the girl was just particularly happy that day.
“You want my potato?” Jirot asked, as Damrot eyed it up, noting all the vegetables and cheese within. The boy smiled shyly in response. “You can have it.”
“Than’ you, kaka,” Damrot replied, the boy tapping his chin, before sticking his fork into the potato.
“You silly boy, I am your kaza, not your kaka.”
The boy looked up at her, slightly befuddled by her words, blinking up at her innocently. Those eyes of his filled with slight confusion, but that was quickly pushed away as Jirot hugged him, bringing his head to her chest, the girl brushing a hand through his hair.
“If you say I am kaka, I am your kaka,” Jirot assured, the girl planting a firm kiss on his head. “How can I not say it? You are too cute, my Damrot, too cute.”
“You are so happy this morning?” the one armed Jarot asked.
“Yes. I am so happy today.”
“Good! You should be happy everyday, my greatdaughter!” The old geezer reached down to rub the top of her head, chuckling.
“Today is such a good day,” the girl declared, letting out a satisfied sigh, beaming more brightly than the noonval sun.
Within the Order of the Black Mountain, with the sun bearing upon him, the girl’s foolish father stood, with the understanding that the day was a bad day.
‘This isn’t my fault, is it?’ Adam thought, feeling his heart pounding within his chest, his hair standing on end, the sweat pouring down the contours of his face.
The Malawi stood, adorned in long grey robes, loose and billowing within the chilly air atop the mountain, the turban atop his head pinned with a medal, rewarded to him from a battle almost forgotten by time, yet which plagued him for decades. The Malawi, as a man of Black Mountain, wore a blade at his side, where he could rest his arm, but the cloth draped loosely over his left side, piling against the handle of the sword.
“I must apologise for calling you all so hastily, but I wished to call or you while it was still early within the day,” Hassan called, his voice loud, carrying along the wind. He stood tall, firm, as though he were the eponymous Black Mountain. “It is my intention to speak quickly. Faruk, bring me the sword.”
Dunes’ heart throbbed wildly within his heart, for the sword the Malawi held within his head, by the middle of the scabbard, as though raising a flag, was undoubtedly the sword he had gifted the Malawi the previous day. His mind flashed with the thousand of ways the scene could continue, yet almost every way called for his death, and he prayed within his heart it would end with him. He was too busy to notice the fact that as the Malawi plucked the sword out of the long box, the young Faruk, who the Malawi had mentored, held a great shock upon his face.
“This blade within my hands, gifted to us by our very own Mo Dunes, has been blessed by the Lady,” the Malawi declared, as though it were true. He gripped the blade tighter, feeling the thin steel of the scabbard against his fingers, the heaviness of the blade against his arms. “The Lady, hearing our prayers, has gifted us this blade, which holds a Legendary enchantment upon it.”
Adilnur stepped up the steps towards his brother, holding a glare within his eyes as his brother held the sheath out towards him. As Adilnur took it within his hands, he paused, the rush of magic flooding through his fingertips, his hair standing on end. He was uncertain of his brother, who had taken such an extreme action that morning, and beyond that, spoke of such ridiculousness, and yet the moment he held the blade, the blade which he had admired the previous day, mundane that it was, a gift from their Mo, his thoughts fell still.
“First Blade,” Adilnur called, for if the three who held the greatest influence in Black Mountain were in accordance, who could doubt their words?
Salim approached, adorned in his breastplate, at the ready to fight, his long cloak billowing behind him as he gracefully bounded the steps towards the stage where the two old men waited. As he held the blade, his heart swelled.
It was impossible.
As the First Blade raised the blade into the blade, the crowd gasped, the younger acolytes glancing between one another as they tried to understand the significance of this day. Only the elderly understood this was a day that would be recorded within their history books, a turning point for the Order.
“In the hands of the worthy, the blade is no simple Legendary blade,” Hassan continued his fingers clasped the handle, gripping it firmly, while his voice oppressed heavily upon them with duty. “When wielded by those who hold the title of the Sword of the Lady, it holds even greater abilities.”
An explosion of quiet murmuring filled the Order, Hassan allowing it for only a moment, as if he did not stop it, those who were currently stunned would soon possess racing thoughts, and he could not allow them to take control of the narrative he was weaving.
“Mo Dunes,” Hassan called, daring to press his narrative forward. “I offer you the naming rights for this blade, as it was gifted to the Order by your hands.”
Dunes closed his eyes, feeling the sweat slip down towards his tear ducts, the Mo pressing a handkerchief against his eyelids, dabbing his face lightly. His heart continued to thunder within his chest, the Priest uncertain if he could handle so much stress.
“I am honoured to name the blade, but it was only with the assistance of the young Taygak, that I procured such a fine blade,” Dunes said. “Taygak, what is the name of such a fine blade?”
Adam tensed up, his eyes widening as he stared at Dunes, before he smiled wide. ‘Dunes, if I need to kill every-,’
Dunes was glad the half elf had forced his thought to end, praying he would never understand what that wicked smile had meant.
‘You brat, how far will you go?’ the Elder of Black Mountain thought, he who often played dragonchess opposite his companion.
‘To bring Chaos into your heart before you fall…’ the other Elder thought, he who had once claimed such a high position within Black Mountain in the previous generation.
‘To shirk even the Elders,’ Adilnur thought, feeling the weight of his brother’s words upon his heart, he, who had not even consulted with his greatest ally, the brother who adored him so.
Taygak spoke the words aloud, but she spoke them in a language none understood, as though to state it was too sacred a name to understand, or perhaps, too terrifying.
“It seems our Taygak here is one who has mastery over names,” the Iyrman with the red sword at his side said.
“The Void of Black Mountain,” Laygak said, as Faool elbowed him in the side.
‘What an ominous name,’ Adilnur thought.
‘A blade that should not exist,’ Hassan thought, closing his eyes, clenching the handle tighter in hand, the powerful magic within rushing through him. His eyes fell to the side, towards the still thoroughly annoyed Mustashalur, who should have been briefed upon the foolish actions of the Malawi. However, would he be Adilnur’s younger brother if he didn’t worry him in the slightest. “Black Mountain, hear my decree! I shall appoint someone in the dormant position of the Sword of the Lady!”
“Who have you considered into the position?” Adilnur asked, standing beside his brother, his hands behind his back. He did not hide his annoyance, something which may have been just for show, but the only problem was that…
Adam wasn’t sure what it meant exactly, but seeing that so much of the Order was surprised by the Malawi’s words, he realised it was a greater deal than he had expected.
It was only after the Malawi spoke the words when the Elders and those who wished to push back against the Malawi unilaterally deciding all of this by himself, did they realise why he was missing his arm.
PATREON LINK
Today is a good day indeed.