“Get up, dreg!”
I spluttered as ice cold water was splashed across my face, waking me from my restless slumber. Wiping my eyes, I glared at the prison guard who only laughed cruelly at my expression. Like all members of the City Watch, he wore armor of pure gold with ivory detailing and a gaudy blue cape. The tall, stylized helm he wore barely fit over his head.
“What’s with that expression? You should be grateful,” the man said. He grinned down at me, showing all of his crooked teeth. “After all, you’re getting out today!”
The malicious glint in the man’s piggy eyes told me everything that I needed to know. I wouldn’t be walking free. I was going to be another spectacle.
The sound of jangling keys followed by the heavy barred door creaking open was the only warning I had before the guard roughly pulled me to my feet. “Walk!” he shouted as he shoved me out of the cell.
I stumbled and nearly fell to the ground before I managed to catch myself. I straightened myself and glared at the garishly dressed man, putting as much disdain and hate as I could behind my gaze. The man merely tilted his head and smirked at me, his hand going to the sword at his hilt. His cocky expression all but screaming at me to try and fight back.
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to calm down. While my limbs weren’t bound, I had nothing but the dirty rags they forced me in when I was arrested. I could do next to nothing against a man in full armor. I could run but I would inevitably be caught be caught by one of the many City Watchmen that patrolled the jailhouse.
There was absolutely nothing that I could do.
The guard saw the defeated look on my face and his grin widened. He sauntered towards me with all the confidence a middle-aged man drunk off power could muster and shoved me down the corridor. “Get moving, dreg!”
Unable to fight back, I could only give him one last glare before complying with his demands and walk towards my certain death.
-Line Break-
It all started one night when a halo of heavenly light broke through the night sky over the Kingdom of Khavaria. It shone brighter than any star ever had, bathing the vast countryside in its dazzling aura. Those who saw it likened to the first rays of sunlight after a long winter; warm, welcoming and full of hope for a brighter tomorrow. The light only stayed for but a moment before it shot down to the earth like a falling star, touching down at the very heart of Khavaria, the capital city Brithen. It wasn’t until the following morning, when the city had finally arisen, that the people saw what the gods had gifted us.
It was a sword. Its blade sunk deep so deep into the stone of the city’s town square to where only its hilt could be seen. The grip appeared to be made of pure gold and the pommel and guard were studded with perfectly cut jewels of varying color. A soft golden glow emanated from the sword, further cementing that this was no mere weapon.
The king, Rorfin Treadfare the Third, immediately summoned the High Priestess to ascertain the sword’s origins as it was clearly some divine magic about it. It was determined by her that the blade was given to Khavaria by the gods themselves. She said that the one who could pull the blade from the earth would be dubbed the Hero of the Kingdom, the one prophesized to slay the Gloom Lord and purify the Dark Kingdom.
When this was announced, people were jumping at the chance to try their hand at removing the sword from the earth. The thought of being labeled as the Hero was something that anyone would want, and what was the harm in trying? The turnout of prospects seeking glory was so great that King Rorfin arranged a festival where anyone could try their hand at pulling the stone from the earth.
I was only a child at the time but I still remember my mother bringing me to that festival. There were beautiful decorations strewn all across the square. There were puppet shows featuring brave knights and cartoonishly evil monsters. There were elaborate games that boasted larger than life prizes and treats. Vendors from across the entire continent came with exotic foods and spices that filled the air with mouthwatering scents.
Everyone was together. The rich, the poor. Everyone was there, intermingling like neighbors at this marvelous celebrating. At the very back, there was a stage that had been built where the king and his family sat upon makeshift thrones and looked out over the people. In the very center of it, cordoned off by a simple velvet rope, was the glowing weapon that had been dubbed the Sword of Heaven.
The festival lasted almost the entire day before the first contender was allowed to step up to the sword. They were a large heavy-set man with an unruly beard and a bald head. His ruddy face stretched into a confident smirk as he swaggered up to the blade. He regarded the hilt with smugness, as if he knew that he would be walking away with the sword in hand and glory on his shoulders.
The crowd grew silent, collectively holding their breath as the man gripped the hilt of the sword. However, before he could give even a single tug, the soft golden light of the sword intensified and crept up the man’s arm and stretched out over his body. In a matter of moment, the man was completely enveloped by the golden glow. Everyone watched, transfixed as we watched the glow overtake the man. Many thought that this meant that the sword had chosen him, that he was the Hero, but I saw differently.
I could see it in the man’s eyes. Where there was once confidence, there was confusion and then terror. He opened his mouth to say something, or possibly even to scream, but he froze before a single sound could pass his lips. The glow around the man faded back into the sword and what was left was a solid gold statue depicting his likeness. Everyone watched on, their previous joy and jubilation replaced by horror as the statue swayed before falling and shattering before our very eyes.
For a moment, there silence. Everyone just stared at the pile of golden rubble that had once been a person. Then the screams started. In a moment, the crowd had formed into a panicked mob, each person desperate to get away from the sword. Fearing that they would face they would face the same fate if they remained. People were knocked each other around in their haste, sending several to the ground in the chaos.
I also remember being knocked to the ground by a faceless member of the crowd, my hand being wrenched from my mother’s as I fell. She tried to grab me, but she was unable to fight against the raging crowd and was swept away. Her cries being swallowed by the chaos around us. I remember sobbing fearfully at the thundering charge of the crowd. My hands were over my head in a feeble attempt to protect myself from the stomping feet.
“ENOUGH!” the shout of the king rang over the hysteric cacophony.
The effect of the man’s powerful voice was almost instantaneous. The deafening screams fell to dull whispers as everyone froze in place. My mother, finally able to make her way back to me, picked me up and began worrying over the bruises and scrapes that covered my arms and legs. By the time I had calmed down enough to be aware of what was going on, the King Rorfin had cautiously approached the sword.
“What happened?” he demanded of the High Priestess who had stepped from the crowd and kneeled down next to the shattered remains of the statue.
The priestess was silent as she ran her hand over the pile of golden rubble, careful to not touch the pieces. After a moment, she gracefully stood to her feet and dusted off her robes. She glanced at the sword that still glowed almost innocently with that same golden light.
“He was unworthy,” the woman finally said, turning to the king. “His soul bore great sin that made him incapable of wielding this divine blade.”
King Rorfin furiously pointed to the pile of golden rubble at the priestess’ feet. “That doesn’t explain what happened to him!”
“But it does,” the priestess contradicted. She crouched down and picked up one of the gold fragements. Ignoring the wave of gasps, she showed the piece to the crowd. “The blade purified the man of his sin! Transforming a life that would have amounted to nothing to something that can benefit our great kingdom!”
It was hard for me to see at first but eventually the setting sunlight struck the fragment in just the right way for me to see what everyone else did. The piece of statue she held was hollow inside and, like a split geode, it was filled with numerous glittering gemstones.
-Line Break-
Since that day, only a few others had willingly tried their hand at drawing the sword, and just like the first, they all met the same fate. The people still wanted their Hero, but no one wanted to risk not being worthy. However, where others saw certain death, the king saw opportunity.
He instilled a lottery. Once a month, a random denizen of Brithen would be chosen to attempt to draw the blade. The people were reluctant, but the need for the Hero outweighed the risk. So, once a month, one random person would be forced to touch the blade and, once a month, someone was reduced to a pile of precious metal and jewels. This went on for almost an entire year before we started to see what was really going on.
It was small things at first. The City Watch getting new equipment or new embellishments appearing on the royal palanquin. We didn’t think anything of it at first, but after tenth lottery, then we noticed that it seemed like only common folk were being chosen to try their hand at the sword. At the same time, many of the highborn wore finer clothing than what they had previously. Their hands and necks were covered in gaudy jewelry that seemed far too expensive. It didn’t add up. Until it did.
The king and the upper class were selling the remains of those who had attempted to draw the holy blade. King Rorfin didn’t instate the lottery to find the Hero. He had done it for wealth. He was selling the bodies of his people for money.
The common folk were outraged at this revelation. Cries for retribution over their lost loved ones echoed across the entire city. Talks of rebellion sparked through the commonfolk, the people who were forced to take part in the lottery, but before it could even start, it was smothered by the might of the City Watch.
They descended upon the common folk like glittering locust. The people tried to fight back, but they were helpless against their armored adversaries. Before the night was done the leaders of the ‘rebel movement’ as they called it were violently rounded up and thrown in jail. They were charged with conspiracy against the crown and were to be put to death, but they weren’t brought to the gallows. They were brought to the sword.
One after the other, they were all forced to grasp the hilt while we all watched on in horror. While it was a scene that we had grown accustomed to, this was different. There was no longer the guise of finding the Hero. What was happening was an execution.
The lottery proceeded every month as normal, but no one was fooled by its intent. In addition to the monthly tribute, they began executing all prisoners with the blade. It wasn’t just the murderers or treasonists. It was petty thieves and drunkards as well. Anyone who was seen breaking the law was subject to that cursed blade. King Rorfin stated that if the people couldn’t live as respectable members of society, they could at least contribute to the kingdom in another way.
One would think that this would serves as a good deterrent, but crime became a necessity for the lowborn. The wealth that came from the deaths of numerous common folk? It never reached us. All the wealth the sword wrought stayed within the upper class. It went towards extravagant galas, exquisite foods, and inessential baubles. While nobles had their parties and grew fat off the peoples’ death, us common folk suffered and starved in the streets.
We were the bottom of society, barely worth the notice of those born in high standing. Dregs they called us. The only way we could get by was working in potentially dangerous environments, humiliate ourselves for our better’s amusement, or we could steal what we needed. That’s what I had done ever since my mother passed away one horrible winter.
I never stole from anyone who couldn’t live without a few less coins in their purse. In fact, most of the time I only stole food and medicine, but the level of crime meant nothing to the City Watch and the people who filled their pockets.
-Line Break-
“Gem deposit walking!” a random guard shouted from around the corner.
The comment garnered a round of laughter and jeers from those watching. A few even spat in my direction. The few prisoners that still remained in their cells simply watched me pass, offering nothing more than defeated looks of pity.
I refused to respond to their jeers and kept my head high. I may have been walking to my death, but I would be damned if I let them see me break. Unfortunately, this was easier said than done as we reached the doors that led out of the jailhouse.
The guard wrenched open the heavy metal doors, the sudden light of the sun momentarily blinding me. As I was blinking the spots from my eyes, a metal covered hand roughly grabbed my shoulder and practically threw me outside. I stumbled and fell, sharp bits of rock biting into my knees and hands as I caught myself. Pompous laugher arose around me as my sight finally returned.
Looking up, I was met with the sneering faces of Brithen’s nobility. They always stood closest to the jailhouse during events like these. It put them close to the guards in case the dregs got rowdy while still being in full view of the sword. They looked down their noses, some had their hands covering mouths as if they were trying to hide their laughter, but their cruel smiles were blatant.
I could hear many of them whispering among themselves, betting on whether I would try and run of if I would break down in tears. One particular snobbish voice was lamenting over how small I was. That I wasn’t nearly big enough to produce quality gems. It all made my stomach churn in disgust.
“Get up, dreg!” the guard barked, once again grabbing me by the arm and yanking me off the ground.
I winced in pain at the rough treatment, but kept my mouth firmly shut as he shoved me forward and demanded that I start walking. Reluctantly, I began moving forward, trying desperately to ignore my heart thudding out of my chest.
The simple walk from the jailhouse to the stage where the sword lied felt like a never-ending stretch. The faces of the nobility blended together into collage of sneers and laughing faces. Their eyes staring down at me predatorily like a pack of wolves sizing up their next meal. I forced myself to look straight ahead, desperately trying to ignore the condescending faces and jeers. However, looking forward wasn’t much better.
As I reached the base of the stage, I stopped dead in my tracks. There it was. The Sword of Heaven. The instrument of my impending death
This was the closest I had ever been to the sword. It looked just as it had over a decade ago. The jeweled hilt still shimmered in the sun, each gem unblemished and the gold underneath looking freshly polished. Not a single speck of dirt or grime marred the horrible weapon’s beauty despite it sitting in the same spot for years. Around the blade, brilliant flowers grew impossibly from the paved stone the sword had pierced all those years ago. Further exemplifying the magics the sword held.
It would have been a picturesque scene had I not known the horrible truth about the weapon. It was like a sprig of foxglove, its deadliness hidden under the guise of beauty. Where some may see a blessed sword, all I saw was the grim reaper’s blade. Perfectly poised to add another life to it collection of death that stained its beauty.
I took a step back, my basic instinct of self-preservation screaming at me to run. However, before I could take more than a single step, the guard behind me grabbed the back of my neck. Choking slightly, I was forced back into my previous position and spun around to face the royal family.
As always, King Rorfin sat on his makeshift throne, his wife and two children next to him. Where he had once been a large and imposing man when I had first seen him that fateful day, his once powerful build had become padded from years of opulence and greed. His throne audibly creaked as he shifted in place. He wore incredibly fancy yet garish robes that seemed to be straining to remain on his large form. It was obvious to all that looked upon him that the coffers went directly to his stomach and pockets rather than the mouths of the common folk.
On his left, the queen appeared utterly disinterested in the goings on around her. She passively sipped from a jeweled goblet, observing me as if I were nothing more than an insignificant bug. She too wore extravagant clothing and jewelry, the cost of which no doubt could feed an entire family for over a year.
Even the king’s children were garbed in expensive fabrics. Their attention was far too focused on their intricate and equally expensive toys to take in what happening. How lucky were they to live in such luxury that they could remain so unconcerned at a time like this. Did they have any concept of death? Did they even consider what I was about to endure death or just a deposit?
My attention was once again drawn to the king as he rose to his feet. “Citizens of Brithen! Once again, we come together in hopes that the Hero is chosen by the Sword of Heaven!”
He spoke loudly, but his tone clearly spoke of disinterest. Like he didn’t truly care about or even believe what he was saying. His wife was clearly of a similar mind as she merely rolled her eyes and continued to sip from her goblet. After a short pause, the king continued addressing the crowd.
“While the Hero has yet to appear to us, we must keep hope alive. We must believe that the Hero will appear in time and defeat the evil that threatens our fair kingdom. Until then, we must take heart that every volunteer that fails the sword’s test can make up for their failure through…reimbursement.”
A few chuckles ran through the crowd of nobility. Even King Rorfin cracked a smile at his own little joke. “Now, onto today’s volunteer.”
Finally, the king made eye contact with me. It was subtle, but I could see a malicious sneer cross over his jowls before quickly disappearing. He once again, put on a fake smile and addressed his people.
“Before us today is a notorious criminal, responsible for countless acts of thievery upon the denizens of this great city!” At this, a round of jeers and shouts broke out among the rich folk, the people that, admittedly, I exclusively targeted.
“What is more,” King Rorfin continued, his voice becoming louder as he gained momentum from the crowd, “they are responsible for indoctrinating many of our city’s children into their wicked schemes!”
Several gasps of shock echoed and I couldn’t stop myself from openly glaring at the mockery of royalty in front of me. Indoctrinate? Please! Those kids had been stealing long before I ever met them. It was practically the only way to survive in the lower crust of Brithen. The only thing I ever did was offer advice and ensure they had a safe place to return to, which was more than the nobility or City Watch could say.
I still angered me to think about how those golden bastarfs had dragged the youngest member of the group, a little boy no more than eight named Gerald, into town square after being caught stealing a loaf of bread. By the time I was made aware of what was happening, the poor boy had been beaten bloody under the hand of our city’s great protectors. It was only when I took the blame for his thievery, and those committed by the other children, did they release Gerald and take me into custody.
“They may have lived a life of crime,” King Rorfin continued, “but they have willingly offered themselves up to repay our kingdom for their transgressions. Either they will become the hero…”
The king’s eyes found mine once again. Dull, beady eyes became alight with malice hunger. A cruel smile that sent chills down my back stretched across his plump face. “…or their sins will be purified and their body left to pay reparations to the injured parties.”
At that, I was spun around to face the crowd once more. On one side, the nobility continued to hurl obscenities and taunts at me. How dare I steal from them! How could I steal from the mouths of their children?! It all made me sick. As if any one of them had ever been hungry. As if any one of them had ever been forced to sacrifice their own morals just to survive another day. What right did they have to persecute me just for trying to survive?!
On the other side of it all, furthest from the nobles, stood my people. The lowborn. The so-called dregs of Brithen. One could immediately spot the difference between the two classes as where the nobility wore expensive and clean clothing, the common folk’s clothes were far more worn and inexpensive. Sometimes just a step above rags. Many had the telltale hollow cheeks that spoke of numerous days without substantial food. The deep bags under their eyes told a story of exhaustion and fatigue that the upper class could never hope to understand. However, above all, they were all silent.
They didn’t come in hopes to see the Hero be named, that fantasy passed long ago, nor did they come to see ‘justice’ be served. No, the lower class of Brithen came out of solidarity. To show that, even in their last moments, those chosen to touch the Sword of Heaven would be remembered as more than just currency. It was a soothing balm over the burning anger I felt at that moment. To know that I would be remembered and that my death, perhaps, could inspire some change in Brithen.
The guard behind me leaned in close and spoke low enough that only I would hear. “You don’t have to worry about your little friends,” he whispered, his stale breath washing over the side of my face. “Once you’re out of the way, picking up the rest of the vermin will be like picking loose change off the side of the road.”
My heart stopped at that. Gerald’s bloody and tear-stricken fact flashing before my eyes. Anger then flooded through me like blood as my heart raced. No. They couldn’t go after them. I gave myself up so they wouldn’t be arrested. They were just kids struggling to get by, they weren’t criminals! They couldn’t do this!
I turned, a slew of foul language itching to leap from the tip of my tongue, but before I could utter a single word, the guard’s grip on my neck tightened. “Don’t you worry,” he said placatingly, his face a mask of cruelty. “Just like you, their worthless lives will finally have meaning in the end.”
With those final cruel words, he shoved me forward. I stumbled, my hands instinctually flying out to catch myself and I did catch myself. My hands curled around the hilt of the Sword of Heaven, stopping my momentum but also sealing my fate.
All at once, I was engulfed by the sword’s radiant light. Everything vanished for me. The crowd, the guards, the cheers, the chants for my death, the cries from those who knew me. All of it faded away and was replaced by an all-consuming light.
I felt something surge through and around me, filling me with an unbearable power. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t tell if I was in pain, pleasure, or something in between. All I knew, all I could comprehend, was the violent gold light that was consuming my very being like a wild fire around dry kindling. I was frozen in place. I couldn’t let go of the sword, I couldn’t run, I couldn’t plead for my life. All I could do was stand there and endure it as whatever was in that sword swallowed me whole.
Images of my life flashed before my eyes before too fading into the light. Everything I ever was, my very soul, was laid before me in my final moments. From my first memory of my mother to the winter I lost her. The numerous people I watched become victims to the king’s greed. My first theft. Looking out for the children of the lower class. Stealing medicine and food for those in desperate need. Saving little Gerald. I watched all of it. My entire life playing out before disappearing in a matter of moments.
I had just enough awareness in my body to feel a warm tear trickle down the side of my face. I closed my eyes but the light pierced even my eyelids. There was no escape from it. This was then end. This was my end…
…
…
…then the light faded.
I fell to my knees, my eyes snapping open as I frantically drew in ragged breath after ragged breath. I was…alive?
I looked up and saw the crowd staring back at me, just as confused as I was. Murmurs rippled through those in attendance, neither side understanding what they were witnessing. I had lived. I hadn’t been turned to just another pile of gold and gems. I was alive!
I looked up at the sword, my hand still clutched tightly around the hilt. With great effort, I pulled myself upon shaky legs and continued to stare. After a moment, I threw caution to the wind and gripped the hilt with my other hand and pulled with all my might. I stumbled back, nearly falling as the sword came free without any resistance.
The blade was remarkable. A beautiful, unblemished, stretch of metal that looked as if it had been forged from pure moonlight. The golden aura that had once emanated from the holy weapon receded, replaced by a steady hum that ran up my arm like a pleased cat. Despite the sword’s size, it was like I was holding nothing at all. In fact, it felt…right to be holding it.
I stared down at this perfect weapon, my mind struggling to understand what was happening. So entranced, I jumped as a cheer erupted.
“The Hero has been chosen!”
“The Hero is here at last!”
“Long live the Hero!”
I watched on, utterly gobsmacked as both sides of the audience cheered for me. They were happy. Both sides, nobles and commoners, equally ecstatic that the Hero had finally come to them. At that moment, there wasn’t two factions. It was just the city celebrating their savior.
A small smile wormed its way upon my face; the jubilance of the crowd infectious. I awkwardly waved at them, unsure how to react to it all. Not just towards my people, but the ones who were calling for my death just minutes prior. How was I supposed to react when the very people who had condemned me were now cheering for me?
I didn’t have long to think on it when I felt eyes on my back. Turning, I saw the guard that I dragged me all the way here gaping like a fish. Behind him upon the stage, the queen stared wide-eyed down at me. Her face pinched as if she had been sucking on a lemon, her goblet forgotten and rolling abandoned across the stage. Her children stared as well, though I could tell that it was more out of confusion than anything else. Then the king…
I recoiled at the look of absolute fury that King Rorfin was sending my way. The sheer hatred that shone in his eyes should only be reserved for the evilest of monsters. He looked at me as if I had killed his children with my bare hands and laughed as I did so. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to remove my head from my shoulders and I understood why.
I had taken the king’s golden goose. The wealth that the sword had brought his kingdom was cut at the source. The very thing that allowed him to line his pockets and the pockets of his supporters was now gone. Lost to the hands of someone well bellow his station. The king realized that and it would only be a matter of time before the rest of the populace did so as well.
I turned back to the still cheering crowd, my smile having slipped from my face. I may have been chosen as the Hero, but in doing so I had made an enemy of the very king whose kingdom I was supposed to protect. What’s more, what would happen when the kingdom’s wealth dried up? Would their admiration turn to bitter hatred? Would they curse my name instead of revere it? How long before one of them realizes that they were better off without the Hero and call for my head?
My hand tightened around the cursed blade that had sealed my fate. Like I had always thought, the Sword of Heaven wasn’t a blessing. It was curse meant to end the lives of all those who would dare touch it.
Works Of Fiction by D.J. Adams 