[Fic] "The Sum of Things," ch. 1, pt. 1 -- original
I have decided that I might as well post the parts of my NaNo thing that I got finished. It is 17,000 words long, though, so this will be in pieces. Here's part one of chapter 1.
The title is more or less a placeholder. Also, please note that this is a rough draft. In other words, it contains many mistakes, omissions, and generally stupid things that I've edited into or out of the current version on my computer. Clear? Good. You can start reading now.
---------------------------------------------
Chapter One: I Will Show You Something Different, Part I
---------------------------------------------
"Here, it's not much farther." Talin looked over his shoulder at Bren, making sure she hadn't lost her footing.
Bren hoisted her skirts around her knees and clambered over the low stone wall after him. "There had better be something very interesting at the end of this climb, or you're going to be in a great deal of pain, Talin ben Cilvar. My mother is not going to like what this is doing to my shoes."
Talin shrugged this off; Bren's complaints and threats were rarely serious. "You've ruined them a hundred times before and she hasn't disowned you yet. Stop complaining, we're nearly there."
Together, they walked up the last pasture high on Car Cilvar. Beyond this field, the mountain was unclaimed land, left undisturbed for fear of rockslides. It also kept the hawks and eagles further from the flocks, and provided them with a ready source of wild prey to distract them from the lambs and kids and other domestic animals.
"Now I know the real reason people only keep goats up here," Bren grumbled as the slope continued to steepen. "No sane person would want to come here every day to tend crops." She raised her head from where she'd been testing her footing, and groaned. "Not another wall!"
"Yes, another wall. And this one's the last, I promise." Talin deftly pushed himself up the three feet of stones and waited for Bren to perch beside him. They sat in silence, recovering their breath and looking out at the mountain.
The sky was a heartbreaking blue, the pure, bright color that Talin thought seemed to reach down and tug people upwards. Down the slopes, he could see herders chivvying his father's flocks from field to field or lying at rest while the animals cropped the grass. In the distance the stream ran through the narrow valley on its way to the river, and Bren's house and her father's mill sat perched across the water, just past the border of ben Cilvar land.
"So where's this thing that's so important you practically dragged me out of water-sharing this morning?" Bren asked, breaking the silence.
"Look out there, up the mountain," said Talin. "See the big rock?"
"I see hundreds," Bren said dryly.
Talin unfolded his arm and pointed.
"Oh, that big rock. Yes."
"We're going to that rock. Come on." Talin slid off the wall and trudged up the slope towards the rock. Bren hitched up her skirts and followed him, collapsing against the stone when they finally reached it.
She looked at it in disgust. "This is it? This is why you brought me all the way up here without any explanation to my family, muddied my skirts, wore me out, and ruined my best shoes? A big rock! You turnip brains!" She swung around and slapped Talin, palm cracking against his cheek. As she tensed again for a backhand blow, he caught her wrist.
"Wait, Bren -- this isn't it. It's what's under the rock I wanted to show you." Her hand jerked. "Don't hit me again, at least not until you see what's underneath." Bren glared at her cousin, but nodded, yanking her hand back when he released it.
"So you want me to see what's under the big rock, Talin ben Cilvar? How do you plan to move it? Last I knew you had less gift for magic than I do."
Talin grinned; it wasn't often he knew something Bren didn't, and it was fun to watch her irritation. "I don't have to move it. Come around and see."
He led Bren around to the far side of the rock, its bulk shielding them from any curious observers down in the fields. "There's a hollow underneath here," he said, squatting to tap a shelf-like slab of stone. "And this stone moves."
He shoved it sideways, exposing a shadowed cavity. "See?"
Bren tapped her foot. "Very interesting. It's a hole in the ground. Is there anything inside, or are you digging a cave to hibernate in?"
"Not even I want to get away that badly," Talin muttered. "No, there's something here -- wait while I fish it out." He leaned down further and rummaged around under the sheltering stone until his fingers closed on something hard and solid. "Aha!"
"Well?"
"Close your eyes."
Bren snorted.
"Really, close your eyes," Talin said. "I want to get the proper effect, and it won't work if it's all covered in dirt the first time you see."
"Oh, fine. I'll count to twenty."
Talin drew his prize from the earth and ran the corner of his shirt over it in a few quick swipes. Bren would have to admit this was the most exciting thing to happen all year.
"Open your eyes," he told her, holding his hands out in the offering position.
Bren blinked, and whistled -- that long, low expression of astonishment and appreciation Talin had never mastered himself. "You found a sword!"
Talin grinned. "Oh yes. Now, is that interesting enough to drag you out of water-sharing?"
Bren nodded, eyes still fixed on the weapon. "Definitely. It was just lying there under the rock? How in God's name did you find it?"
Talin looked down, studying the sword. "My father had been... worse than usual," -- he caught Bren's sympathetic wince in the corner of his eye -- "so I came up here. Nobody can see behind the largest stones. I noticed the shelf stone sounded hollow, and I had nothing better to do." He looked up at Bren. "Why? Do you think it was stolen?"
"I don't know," Bren said slowly. "It's an awfully good sword -- not light and just for show, or long and heavy to give unskilled swordsmen greater reach. It's a professional sword. You don't see many around here, of course, but there are weapon shops in the city and my da likes to show me around at Cimhain time. The hilt's plain, though, -- a working sword -- so it probably belonged to a soldier or duelist, maybe even a blade-master. And I can't figure out why anyone would bury it up here on Car Cilvar, unless somebody died. Have you found any bones?"
Bones? "No," Talin said. "But with the eagles and the other animals, there might not be any. And if somebody is buried up here, how would we ever know? I'm not about to turn over every rock I see in case it's covering a grave."
"True." Bren sighed. "In any case, it's either stolen or abandoned, and for a long time -- see how cracked and moldy the leather is on the sheath? -- so I don't think anyone but your father would object to you taking it."
Talin slid the blade a few inches out of the sheath; the metal gleamed in the midday sun, slicing the light in two across its wickedly sharp edge. "The blade looks like new, though. Maybe the sheath was a disguise so nobody would notice the sword was too good and probably stolen."
"Or maybe it's been spelled not to rust," Bren suggested. She grinned. "I completely forgive you for dragging me around, though I'm not sorry I slapped you. This is definitely interesting."
She tilted her head, watching the light splash off the sword. "Here, give it to me. I want to try it out!"
"You want to what? Are you mad?" Bren grinned and held out her hands; Talin sighed. "Oh, all right. Just watch where you swing it -- I don't want to die."
Bren grabbed the hilt, curling her fingers through the guard, and carefully pulled the sword free of the battered sheath. It was ever so slightly curved, the outer edge sharpened along the whole length while the inner edge was blunt until halfway down the blade. More for slicing than stabbing, Talin thought, and the lack of symmetry would make some defenses difficult unless you could transfer it quickly from one hand to the other, or had either a shield or a long dagger to guard your other side.
The quality of the steel was amazing, with oily patterns folded in shimmering lines and frozen into deadly stillness -- the time poured into that sword, the effort of the weapon-smith, was awe-inspiring. Talin had helped the estate blacksmith from time to time, learning to manage his father's lands and tenants, and he knew that man wouldn't dream of creating something as beautiful as this sword, so delicate and strong at once.
Bren dropped the sheath to the ground and struck an awkward pose, sword extended cross-wise in front of her. "Ha! 'Tis I, Lady Illa, returned from the waiting dead to avenge the theft of my sword. Have at thee!" She swung the weapon wildly through the air, slashing at empty space and the long grasses, and nearly sliced through her other hand, which she'd extended for balance.
"Yah!" She dropped the sword, luckily missing both her feet and the nearby stones, and shook out her fingers. "Well, I'll never make a blade-master, let alone be swordborn like Lady Illa. I'll bet she never did anything that clumsy in her life."
Talin laughed, leaning back as he sat on a ledge of the big rock. "I wouldn't be surprised if she did, just not with a sword."
"Of course not with a sword," Bren said, hands on her hips. "That's more or less the point of being swordborn, turnip brains."
"I'll have you know my brain is much better than turnips. I use apples instead. Here, give me the sword."
Bren gave him a cross look and picked the sword off the grass. "Why? You said I was mad to play around with it."
"If you can act half your age, so can I. Give me the sword -- after all, I found it."
Bren sighed and balanced the sword flat on her hands, holding it out to her cousin. Talin slipped his hand around the hilt, automatically testing the balance and positioning his wrist, arms, and body as he hopped off the rock. He slid it through a series of attacks, imagining a raider in front of himself, like the bandits who had spilled through the valley last winter. The silky feel of the edge skimming between breaths of air, as if the sky were truly emptiness instead of a sea of becalmed winds, was like feeling God's touch on his heart.
The sword sheared through the tips of the grasses with as little resistance as it cut through the air. Talin grinned -- this was amazing! He struck a pose, like Bren had done, but a sensible one, one that let him cover potential attacks while still looking impressive. "Ha! Lady Illa, today thou meetest thy match, for I, Dalren Silverblade, have come to challenge thee!"
He whipped the sword forward, stopping less than an inch from Bren's neck.
She went white.
As if looking through deep water, Talin noticed where his arm was holding the sword. The world rippled, and the wonder broke with a shock as the sword trembled in his hand. "Oh. Oh nether hells." Talin drew back, shivering. "I can't believe I did that. I'm so sorry! Where's the sheath? Are you all right?"
Bren nodded, fear fading into excitement on her face. "You didn't hurt me. But that was amazing! Talin, do you know what this means?"
Talin blinked. She'd almost died; why did she look like he'd given her a present? "It means I'm an idiot with turnips for brains -- no, sheep shit for brains! I almost killed you!"
"Actually," Bren said carefully, "no, I think you didn't."
Talin stared blankly at his cousin. There had been many times in his life when he'd had no idea what Bren was talking about, but this bested them all. "Bren. I had a sword an inch from your throat. How is that not almost killing you?"
"Because." Bren thought for a moment, and then held out her hands. "This will be easier if I demonstrate. Give me the sword."
Talin hesitated.
"Give me the sword!" Impatient, Bren plucked the blade from his limp hands and moved it slowly back and forth through the air. "Now, what does this look like when I hold it? An expensive, sharp piece of metal that I haven't any idea what to do with, right? Something that's as dangerous to me as it is to anyone I'm trying to fight."
Talin nodded. "You do all right with knives," he felt compelled to add.
"Thank you, but that's not the point. Now," Bren continued, "you take the sword."
Talin stepped back and threw up his hands. "No! I'm not touching it again."
Bren glared. And threw the sword at his face.
The world blurred for an endless moment, and Talin surfaced to find himself gripping the sword, knees bent and eyes searching for the enemy who had attacked him. What on earth?
"When you hold it," said Bren, fixing him with a determined stare as he tried to pull himself together, "it doesn't only look like a dangerous piece of metal. It looks like part of you. And you move with it like you know what you're doing. You caught it when I threw it in your face. You made me see the person you were fighting when you were playing around before.
"And there is no way I was in any danger when you swung at me. You knew exactly how far to go before you stopped."
"No," Talin insisted. "I didn't know. I almost killed you."
Bren stamped her foot, further ruining her slippers. "You idiot! Look, you've never held a sword before, not even Uncle Arhed's giant rusty thing that might as well be a crowbar. But you've always been good with knives, and wrestling, and everything else, even if you don't like fighting. And you picked up that sword and looked like you were dancing, like you'd been born with it in your hand.
"Now do you see?"
Talin stepped back, forcing himself to let the sword dangle uselessly; the awkward, defenseless position grated across nerves he refused to acknowledge. "No. You have to be wrong. It has to be a mistake."
"Turnip brains! Listen, Talin, this is amazing!" Bren said, grinning like a loon. "Think about it -- if you're swordborn, think of all the things you can do!"
"Yes. I could kill people. Hundreds and thousands of people, very efficiently." Talin shook his head. "I won't. It can't be true. If there's a spell on the sword to keep it from rusting, maybe it's spelled to make people act as if they're swordborn."
Bren fisted her hands on her hips, pinning Talin with a disdainful look. "Then why didn't I know how to use it too?"
"Maybe it only works for men? Or maybe it was looking for somebody?"
Bren sighed and rolled her eyes elaborately skyward. "Hear me, oh Lords of the Heavens, you who watch over the suffering and look on this world with compassion. My idiot cousin is wrapping himself in lies; let the veils be stripped from his vision. Failing that, at least make him shut his mouth and stop trying to convince me I'm wrong."
In spite of himself, Talin smiled. "Fine, Bren, fine. If you're that desperate to believe it, I won't say anything. But you shut your mouth too."
"Coward," Bren said, but her voice was amiable again and the hand she swung at him was lazy and aimed to miss. Talin ducked anyway, just for show.
"We should be heading back down the mountain," she continued. "It's past noon and while my family's used to us being out all hours, Uncle Arhed will be expecting you for lessons."
Talin frowned, squinting into the brilliant sky to gauge the sun's position. "Shit. You're right. Hand me the sheath?"
Bren knelt and scooped up the battered leather sheath, handing it to Talin. "Bring the sword down with you," she said. "Whether I'm right or you're right, there's something fishy about such a well-made sword lying around up here, and I'd like to get to the bottom of it. Maybe my da can help us."
"You'll have to take it once we get down," said Talin, absently sheathing the sword. "My father will find it if I try to hide it at home. And I don't want it around."
"Uncle Arhed's an iron-hearted bastard," Bren muttered, "you're being a coward, and the Mother of Mercy only knows where I'll keep a sword." But she held out her hands willingly enough and tucked the sheathed blade under her arm. "Off we go. And if I slip on any loose rock, Talin ben Cilvar, you're going to get slapped again when we reach your house."
Talin sighed and followed his cousin back down the mountain.
---------------------------------------------
And there you are.
The title is more or less a placeholder. Also, please note that this is a rough draft. In other words, it contains many mistakes, omissions, and generally stupid things that I've edited into or out of the current version on my computer. Clear? Good. You can start reading now.
---------------------------------------------
Chapter One: I Will Show You Something Different, Part I
---------------------------------------------
"Here, it's not much farther." Talin looked over his shoulder at Bren, making sure she hadn't lost her footing.
Bren hoisted her skirts around her knees and clambered over the low stone wall after him. "There had better be something very interesting at the end of this climb, or you're going to be in a great deal of pain, Talin ben Cilvar. My mother is not going to like what this is doing to my shoes."
Talin shrugged this off; Bren's complaints and threats were rarely serious. "You've ruined them a hundred times before and she hasn't disowned you yet. Stop complaining, we're nearly there."
Together, they walked up the last pasture high on Car Cilvar. Beyond this field, the mountain was unclaimed land, left undisturbed for fear of rockslides. It also kept the hawks and eagles further from the flocks, and provided them with a ready source of wild prey to distract them from the lambs and kids and other domestic animals.
"Now I know the real reason people only keep goats up here," Bren grumbled as the slope continued to steepen. "No sane person would want to come here every day to tend crops." She raised her head from where she'd been testing her footing, and groaned. "Not another wall!"
"Yes, another wall. And this one's the last, I promise." Talin deftly pushed himself up the three feet of stones and waited for Bren to perch beside him. They sat in silence, recovering their breath and looking out at the mountain.
The sky was a heartbreaking blue, the pure, bright color that Talin thought seemed to reach down and tug people upwards. Down the slopes, he could see herders chivvying his father's flocks from field to field or lying at rest while the animals cropped the grass. In the distance the stream ran through the narrow valley on its way to the river, and Bren's house and her father's mill sat perched across the water, just past the border of ben Cilvar land.
"So where's this thing that's so important you practically dragged me out of water-sharing this morning?" Bren asked, breaking the silence.
"Look out there, up the mountain," said Talin. "See the big rock?"
"I see hundreds," Bren said dryly.
Talin unfolded his arm and pointed.
"Oh, that big rock. Yes."
"We're going to that rock. Come on." Talin slid off the wall and trudged up the slope towards the rock. Bren hitched up her skirts and followed him, collapsing against the stone when they finally reached it.
She looked at it in disgust. "This is it? This is why you brought me all the way up here without any explanation to my family, muddied my skirts, wore me out, and ruined my best shoes? A big rock! You turnip brains!" She swung around and slapped Talin, palm cracking against his cheek. As she tensed again for a backhand blow, he caught her wrist.
"Wait, Bren -- this isn't it. It's what's under the rock I wanted to show you." Her hand jerked. "Don't hit me again, at least not until you see what's underneath." Bren glared at her cousin, but nodded, yanking her hand back when he released it.
"So you want me to see what's under the big rock, Talin ben Cilvar? How do you plan to move it? Last I knew you had less gift for magic than I do."
Talin grinned; it wasn't often he knew something Bren didn't, and it was fun to watch her irritation. "I don't have to move it. Come around and see."
He led Bren around to the far side of the rock, its bulk shielding them from any curious observers down in the fields. "There's a hollow underneath here," he said, squatting to tap a shelf-like slab of stone. "And this stone moves."
He shoved it sideways, exposing a shadowed cavity. "See?"
Bren tapped her foot. "Very interesting. It's a hole in the ground. Is there anything inside, or are you digging a cave to hibernate in?"
"Not even I want to get away that badly," Talin muttered. "No, there's something here -- wait while I fish it out." He leaned down further and rummaged around under the sheltering stone until his fingers closed on something hard and solid. "Aha!"
"Well?"
"Close your eyes."
Bren snorted.
"Really, close your eyes," Talin said. "I want to get the proper effect, and it won't work if it's all covered in dirt the first time you see."
"Oh, fine. I'll count to twenty."
Talin drew his prize from the earth and ran the corner of his shirt over it in a few quick swipes. Bren would have to admit this was the most exciting thing to happen all year.
"Open your eyes," he told her, holding his hands out in the offering position.
Bren blinked, and whistled -- that long, low expression of astonishment and appreciation Talin had never mastered himself. "You found a sword!"
Talin grinned. "Oh yes. Now, is that interesting enough to drag you out of water-sharing?"
Bren nodded, eyes still fixed on the weapon. "Definitely. It was just lying there under the rock? How in God's name did you find it?"
Talin looked down, studying the sword. "My father had been... worse than usual," -- he caught Bren's sympathetic wince in the corner of his eye -- "so I came up here. Nobody can see behind the largest stones. I noticed the shelf stone sounded hollow, and I had nothing better to do." He looked up at Bren. "Why? Do you think it was stolen?"
"I don't know," Bren said slowly. "It's an awfully good sword -- not light and just for show, or long and heavy to give unskilled swordsmen greater reach. It's a professional sword. You don't see many around here, of course, but there are weapon shops in the city and my da likes to show me around at Cimhain time. The hilt's plain, though, -- a working sword -- so it probably belonged to a soldier or duelist, maybe even a blade-master. And I can't figure out why anyone would bury it up here on Car Cilvar, unless somebody died. Have you found any bones?"
Bones? "No," Talin said. "But with the eagles and the other animals, there might not be any. And if somebody is buried up here, how would we ever know? I'm not about to turn over every rock I see in case it's covering a grave."
"True." Bren sighed. "In any case, it's either stolen or abandoned, and for a long time -- see how cracked and moldy the leather is on the sheath? -- so I don't think anyone but your father would object to you taking it."
Talin slid the blade a few inches out of the sheath; the metal gleamed in the midday sun, slicing the light in two across its wickedly sharp edge. "The blade looks like new, though. Maybe the sheath was a disguise so nobody would notice the sword was too good and probably stolen."
"Or maybe it's been spelled not to rust," Bren suggested. She grinned. "I completely forgive you for dragging me around, though I'm not sorry I slapped you. This is definitely interesting."
She tilted her head, watching the light splash off the sword. "Here, give it to me. I want to try it out!"
"You want to what? Are you mad?" Bren grinned and held out her hands; Talin sighed. "Oh, all right. Just watch where you swing it -- I don't want to die."
Bren grabbed the hilt, curling her fingers through the guard, and carefully pulled the sword free of the battered sheath. It was ever so slightly curved, the outer edge sharpened along the whole length while the inner edge was blunt until halfway down the blade. More for slicing than stabbing, Talin thought, and the lack of symmetry would make some defenses difficult unless you could transfer it quickly from one hand to the other, or had either a shield or a long dagger to guard your other side.
The quality of the steel was amazing, with oily patterns folded in shimmering lines and frozen into deadly stillness -- the time poured into that sword, the effort of the weapon-smith, was awe-inspiring. Talin had helped the estate blacksmith from time to time, learning to manage his father's lands and tenants, and he knew that man wouldn't dream of creating something as beautiful as this sword, so delicate and strong at once.
Bren dropped the sheath to the ground and struck an awkward pose, sword extended cross-wise in front of her. "Ha! 'Tis I, Lady Illa, returned from the waiting dead to avenge the theft of my sword. Have at thee!" She swung the weapon wildly through the air, slashing at empty space and the long grasses, and nearly sliced through her other hand, which she'd extended for balance.
"Yah!" She dropped the sword, luckily missing both her feet and the nearby stones, and shook out her fingers. "Well, I'll never make a blade-master, let alone be swordborn like Lady Illa. I'll bet she never did anything that clumsy in her life."
Talin laughed, leaning back as he sat on a ledge of the big rock. "I wouldn't be surprised if she did, just not with a sword."
"Of course not with a sword," Bren said, hands on her hips. "That's more or less the point of being swordborn, turnip brains."
"I'll have you know my brain is much better than turnips. I use apples instead. Here, give me the sword."
Bren gave him a cross look and picked the sword off the grass. "Why? You said I was mad to play around with it."
"If you can act half your age, so can I. Give me the sword -- after all, I found it."
Bren sighed and balanced the sword flat on her hands, holding it out to her cousin. Talin slipped his hand around the hilt, automatically testing the balance and positioning his wrist, arms, and body as he hopped off the rock. He slid it through a series of attacks, imagining a raider in front of himself, like the bandits who had spilled through the valley last winter. The silky feel of the edge skimming between breaths of air, as if the sky were truly emptiness instead of a sea of becalmed winds, was like feeling God's touch on his heart.
The sword sheared through the tips of the grasses with as little resistance as it cut through the air. Talin grinned -- this was amazing! He struck a pose, like Bren had done, but a sensible one, one that let him cover potential attacks while still looking impressive. "Ha! Lady Illa, today thou meetest thy match, for I, Dalren Silverblade, have come to challenge thee!"
He whipped the sword forward, stopping less than an inch from Bren's neck.
She went white.
As if looking through deep water, Talin noticed where his arm was holding the sword. The world rippled, and the wonder broke with a shock as the sword trembled in his hand. "Oh. Oh nether hells." Talin drew back, shivering. "I can't believe I did that. I'm so sorry! Where's the sheath? Are you all right?"
Bren nodded, fear fading into excitement on her face. "You didn't hurt me. But that was amazing! Talin, do you know what this means?"
Talin blinked. She'd almost died; why did she look like he'd given her a present? "It means I'm an idiot with turnips for brains -- no, sheep shit for brains! I almost killed you!"
"Actually," Bren said carefully, "no, I think you didn't."
Talin stared blankly at his cousin. There had been many times in his life when he'd had no idea what Bren was talking about, but this bested them all. "Bren. I had a sword an inch from your throat. How is that not almost killing you?"
"Because." Bren thought for a moment, and then held out her hands. "This will be easier if I demonstrate. Give me the sword."
Talin hesitated.
"Give me the sword!" Impatient, Bren plucked the blade from his limp hands and moved it slowly back and forth through the air. "Now, what does this look like when I hold it? An expensive, sharp piece of metal that I haven't any idea what to do with, right? Something that's as dangerous to me as it is to anyone I'm trying to fight."
Talin nodded. "You do all right with knives," he felt compelled to add.
"Thank you, but that's not the point. Now," Bren continued, "you take the sword."
Talin stepped back and threw up his hands. "No! I'm not touching it again."
Bren glared. And threw the sword at his face.
The world blurred for an endless moment, and Talin surfaced to find himself gripping the sword, knees bent and eyes searching for the enemy who had attacked him. What on earth?
"When you hold it," said Bren, fixing him with a determined stare as he tried to pull himself together, "it doesn't only look like a dangerous piece of metal. It looks like part of you. And you move with it like you know what you're doing. You caught it when I threw it in your face. You made me see the person you were fighting when you were playing around before.
"And there is no way I was in any danger when you swung at me. You knew exactly how far to go before you stopped."
"No," Talin insisted. "I didn't know. I almost killed you."
Bren stamped her foot, further ruining her slippers. "You idiot! Look, you've never held a sword before, not even Uncle Arhed's giant rusty thing that might as well be a crowbar. But you've always been good with knives, and wrestling, and everything else, even if you don't like fighting. And you picked up that sword and looked like you were dancing, like you'd been born with it in your hand.
"Now do you see?"
Talin stepped back, forcing himself to let the sword dangle uselessly; the awkward, defenseless position grated across nerves he refused to acknowledge. "No. You have to be wrong. It has to be a mistake."
"Turnip brains! Listen, Talin, this is amazing!" Bren said, grinning like a loon. "Think about it -- if you're swordborn, think of all the things you can do!"
"Yes. I could kill people. Hundreds and thousands of people, very efficiently." Talin shook his head. "I won't. It can't be true. If there's a spell on the sword to keep it from rusting, maybe it's spelled to make people act as if they're swordborn."
Bren fisted her hands on her hips, pinning Talin with a disdainful look. "Then why didn't I know how to use it too?"
"Maybe it only works for men? Or maybe it was looking for somebody?"
Bren sighed and rolled her eyes elaborately skyward. "Hear me, oh Lords of the Heavens, you who watch over the suffering and look on this world with compassion. My idiot cousin is wrapping himself in lies; let the veils be stripped from his vision. Failing that, at least make him shut his mouth and stop trying to convince me I'm wrong."
In spite of himself, Talin smiled. "Fine, Bren, fine. If you're that desperate to believe it, I won't say anything. But you shut your mouth too."
"Coward," Bren said, but her voice was amiable again and the hand she swung at him was lazy and aimed to miss. Talin ducked anyway, just for show.
"We should be heading back down the mountain," she continued. "It's past noon and while my family's used to us being out all hours, Uncle Arhed will be expecting you for lessons."
Talin frowned, squinting into the brilliant sky to gauge the sun's position. "Shit. You're right. Hand me the sheath?"
Bren knelt and scooped up the battered leather sheath, handing it to Talin. "Bring the sword down with you," she said. "Whether I'm right or you're right, there's something fishy about such a well-made sword lying around up here, and I'd like to get to the bottom of it. Maybe my da can help us."
"You'll have to take it once we get down," said Talin, absently sheathing the sword. "My father will find it if I try to hide it at home. And I don't want it around."
"Uncle Arhed's an iron-hearted bastard," Bren muttered, "you're being a coward, and the Mother of Mercy only knows where I'll keep a sword." But she held out her hands willingly enough and tucked the sheathed blade under her arm. "Off we go. And if I slip on any loose rock, Talin ben Cilvar, you're going to get slapped again when we reach your house."
Talin sighed and followed his cousin back down the mountain.
---------------------------------------------
And there you are.