The Legend of the Sword

Part 1

Hearing my name echo through the cobbled streets as the town gathered in the square is a moment I will never forget.

Penelope Winter.

The staticky crackle of the voice sounding from the speakers atop the old buildings cut through the stillness, the sighs of relief were deafening in their unison, smothering me from every angle. Men, women, and children gathered in this very spot every 10 years, anticipating their future.

Who would be so unlucky this time to be chosen for the trials?

Nervous gossip had filled these streets for months, growing in desperation as the time drew nearer and making the shortest visits into town unbearable as people loitered in the shops to indulge in their theories. When my name was called it rode the breeze that whipped a loose curl from my braid, I didn’t bother to swipe it away, I just stood, feeling my breath catching in my throat and my legs becoming weak.

Penelope Winter, please make your way to the castle.

My head whipped up at the muffled voice over the speakers summoning me: I wasn’t ready. Rooted to the spot and shoulder-to-shoulder with my neighbours I stayed. My boots were lead and I was a tree, heavy and planted firmly in my place. I felt my father’s breath in my right ear, “go on, Penelope, you’ve been chosen, I will see you soon”. The people around us must have heard him because they started to move away, word spread fast and soon there was a path free of people leading up the winding cobble-stoned street to the castle gates. Silence filled the air, but I swore I could still hear the echo of my name on the wind. I willed myself to move, and made my way slowly, not looking around me at the faces that were fixed on mine. A million thoughts raced through my head, speaking over each other all at once, making my temples throb. I would die. I would not survive the trials. The trials have served the kingdoms for generations and are a firm royal tradition, to refuse participation was punishable by death. My father had trained me to fight from a young age in case my name was ever called, and as the years went by, I had seen 2 people from our community die in the arena, and the training become more intense. But despite knowing how to wield a sword and fire an arrow, I was never as strong as my sisters when it came to fighting.

The air felt colder as I climbed the steps to the castle gates, hesitantly, I looked back and saw the path I’d taken had closed as people stood together once more, thousands of them unmoving, waiting to watch me leave. I took a deep breath in, noticing the dark clouds rolling in overhead, almost the same colour as the impossibly large iron gates standing before me that slowly started to move. I stepped back to allow them to open, taking in the sight of the castle that gradually came into view. It was breath-taking. Made of sandstone with violet wisteria growing up the length of the turrets and over the arched wooden doors. Gravel crunched under my boots as I made my way inside the gates, my gaze never leaving the intimidating size of the castle, in complete awe of its beauty despite my impending death. I hadn’t noticed the gates beginning to close behind me until a heavy thud echoed through the courtyard; I was alone.

Standing there I felt lost, anticipation of the trials settled like nausea in my stomach and crept up my throat, I covered my mouth with my hand, I would not show my fear. 3 guards approached then, their tunics of armour rattling against their chest plates that bore the royal crest, a dragon with its wings spread wide under 2 arrows crossed over one another to represent the King and Queen and their beloved pets. The guards said nothing to me as they ushered me up the stone steps to the now-open arched doors, I thought the castle was stunning but the interior was magnificent; marble floors spread the length of the foyer and the ceiling was a painted mural of a stormy sky and dragons in flight, I hated the monarchy and everything it stood for, but their taste in art was impeccable. The guards lead me up the marble steps to a room on the right and I glanced down the wide corridor adorned with crimson curtains, doors ran the length of the opposite wall, and I wondered if this was where the other contestants stayed.

“This is your chamber for the evening, a maid will be down shortly to bring you some clothes. Trials begin at 8am tomorrow.”

“Wait” I put my hand on the door and stepped back out into the hall, “my father, do I get to see him?”

“Visitors will be arriving this evening; dinner will be provided first. You will eat in your chamber.”

“Where is the first trial?” I knew I was taking a risk asking questions, but I had to know.

The guard looked annoyed, “you will see tomorrow. Get some rest.”

A look I recognised as pity crossed the guards face for a split second, I could tell he knew I was not going to survive this. I nodded to the guard and shut the door, crossing my room and sitting on the end of the surprisingly large bed. Looking around, I was confused by the luxury, a dark fur throw lay at the foot of the bed, a fireplace dominated a large space on the brick wall next to a chestnut wardrobe. I went to the window by the bed and looked out at the gardens below, there was no denying that this place was well looked after and the juxtaposition of the 2 worlds existing next to one another, divided by walls and an iron gate, was more apparent to me than ever before. I had spent my 25 years living with my father and my 2 sisters in a 1-bedroom cottage next to the woods, working a couple of days a week at the local bakery, I had never seen colours as bright as the flowers that grew in the castle gardens.

After a long bath, a maid brought in a night gown and my uniform for the trials, and some soup and bread for dinner, and I finally got to see my father.

“Your father is here”, a maid announced to the room after clearing away my plate and bowl, not looking at me. I watched the heavy wooden door as it opened gently, my father walking in and crossing the room to me. He cupped my face in his hands and sighed, “my Penelope”. I breathed into his embrace, emotions bubbling to the surface as tears pricked my eyes.

“We don’t have long, I wanted to give you something. You can win this, Penelope. You have trained for many years, but remember, it is kill or be killed. You must kill to win.”

“I’m so scared” I whispered, my eyes never leaving his, committing his warm brown eyes that felt like home to memory.

My father reached behind him then and pulled a sword from the leather scabbard he wore on his back over his thick fur cloak, I watched as he unsheathed it, gasping at the beauty of the long, elegant blade. He held it before me with his hands upturned and I recognised it then, I recognised the straight pointed blade and the ivory-coloured hilt that was engraved with scales. I ran my fingers over them, feeling the bumps and edges of the scales that reminded me of the dragons I had seen pictures of as a child.

“This sword belonged to my grandfather’s father, it has been in our family for generations and I want you to have it. These trials are deadly, there will be creatures in that pit that you have only read about in books, they will be hungry, and you must not hesitate to kill them. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but father, this sword is too valuable, I cannot take this”, my hand still lingered on the hilt, thinking of the stories my father would tell me as a child, he would say this is the only sword of its kind, and legend has it, it can make you fly, I would always laugh at that.

“You will take it, and you will win, and I will see you at the end.” My father’s face was stern, but I could see the worry swimming in the way his dimples twitched and how his eyebrows pinched.

“Tell my sisters I love them.”

I took the sword and held it in both of my hands as I pointed it to the floor, I could have sworn I felt a change in myself then, a comfort and strength knowing that I would have a piece of my family with me that ignited in the ivory scales and travelled up my arms and through my body like lightening. I looked up at my father and nodded and he kissed the top of my head, we didn’t speak again, for words were not enough to lift the weight of our anguish, knowing that we may never see each other again.

Part 2

The cheers from the audience of the arena were deafening, their screams and whistles bounced off the beige walls of the stands and the ground shook under my feet. I squinted up at the bright blue sky through the wide opening of the arena, high above the stands that held thousands of people who waved flags for their country and waited impatiently for the first trial to begin. Looking around the outer-ring of the sandy pit of the arena I saw contestants dotted along the circular wall - men, women, teenagers, and children who all wore the same uniform, black trousers and a matching sleeveless tunic, one weapon each. A shrill siren blared suddenly, and silence settled over the stands, birds flapped their wings as they made their way out of the opening, the sound echoing off the walls. The silence hung over us for an eternity as we waited for our signal to begin, the rules were explained to us this morning; there were no rules. Only one person could win, and we must do what it takes to survive. Cameras pointed into the pit from the bottom row of stands, my family would be watching with the rest of the town in our local tavern.

My hands shook round the hilt of my sword, my stance poised and ready to run, a breeze picked up loose curls from my braid that hung down my back, that was when I heard it; a deep rumble reverberating under my feet, throwing me off balance. The contestants around me started to move, running into each other in the middle of the pit, daggers and swords drawn in desperation, blood spurting from the tangle of limbs. That guttural sound erupted again, sounding closer this time, and a looming shadow settled over the pit. The fighting stopped as contestants strained to look up. I gasped at the impossible sight above me, talons descending from the sky, wings spread wide, barely missing the top of the arena as a dragon flew over our heads, sand picking up under our feet from the gust of wind it created. I guess that’s our signal to start I thought, despite the other contestant’s desperate impatience.

A man with a bow and arrow started running toward me amidst the panic and distraction as the dragon hovered over us, his boots making tornados of sand with each stride. I lifted my sword and prepared myself to fight the man, his features crumpled in a furious mask, he lifted his bow and struck one arrow, missing my head but grazing my ear. Heat spread across my face, thick blood pooling on my shoulder. He was getting closer, drawing another arrow, his fury expanding as he screamed, I brought my sword up higher, that’s when an orange glow exploded over my head, the heat consuming me and stealing my breath as I realised the man was on fire. He continued running until the fire enveloped him and he fell forward, impaling himself on his arrow. Shaking at the sight of the fallen man, I turned around and met the golden eyes of the dragon standing behind me. Its head was bowed, and I saw the spikes that trailed along the top of its head to its tail that was whipping left and right. Its scales were the colour of midnight, their shine almost purple like when oil meets water. I twisted around to face the beast, holding my sword out in front of me as the dragon snorted, blasting me with cold air. I stepped forward with my sword raised, adrenaline coursing through my body, watching the beast watching me, its tail whipping faster and faster.

A child started running toward me then with a dagger in her hand, she was crying, I can’t kill her I thought, but she was getting closer as she watched the dragon whose wings lifted slightly, beginning to move toward the child.

I shouted at the beast, “hey! Over here!”

It ignored me. Walking toward the girl on legs the size of oak trees, wings dragging on the ground, I screamed as the beast lifted its head and released another stream of orange, glowing fire, taking the child down and 3 people around her who had ran forward to attempt to slay the dragon.

Fuck this.

I held on tightly to the hilt of my sword as I strode over to the dragon, ready to end this, watching its head dip again before me, stopping me from taking another step, its golden eyes holding my stare. I waited for the fire to take me, but it never came. The dragon remained still until a contestant approached me from the right, he held no weapon in his hands but kept his eyes fixed on my sword, I turned on him then, pointing my sword at his chest as he whispered, “dragon bone”.

I looked down at my sword, at the bumpy scales etched into the hilt under my grip, dragon bone. I had read about that as a child.

He who wields the sword made of dragon bone will become a rider. He will fly.

“Impossible” I mumbled. I looked back at the boy just as the dragon reached over me and took him in its mouth, I swore I heard the bones crunch.

The remaining contestants fled to the edges of the pit, cowering in the shadows of the stands as the dragon whipped its head, breathing fire around the circle, missing me as I stood close to it in the centre of the pit. The beast lowered its head before me again. I glanced down at my sword and wondered if the stories were true. I walked slowly on shaking legs toward the dragon’s hind leg, it didn’t flinch at the feel of my boot gripping onto its scales, climbing up clumsily onto its back. The dragon raised its head then and twisted to look at me, I froze, my heart thumping in my chest like a hammer on cloth.

Hold on.

My eyes widened at the smooth, male voice in my head, did the dragon just speak to me?

Before I had a chance to answer, his body lurched off the ground. Collective gasps from the audience that I had forgotten were there sounded through the arena. Slow beats of the dragon’s wings engulfed the air below him as we took flight, reaching the opening I had watched him descend from. I looked down and saw the king and queen watching us, their mouths gaping wide at the sight of me sitting on his back. I leaned forward to maintain my balance, aware of my small frame on his enormous spine, my knuckles turning white from the tight grip I had on a spike, balancing my sword in my free hand. I knew then that my life would be forever changed, for the dragon I sat upon had claimed me as his rider.

As we hovered over the opening of the arena, I lifted my sword over my head, hoping my father could see me as I laughed, “I can fly!”