[ IP ] Golden Sword

Liam Destout had been only five when he had been initiated into the Order, but he had been an orphan from birth. It was said that both his parents had died at the moment of his birth; his father from an arrow to the heart, and his mother by his son ’ s hands. He had been shunned by everyone from matrons to other orphans. Whenever food was short, and it often was, he ate last. 
 
 As soon as he had been old enough, he had been handed over to the cloth. They, for their part, did everything they could to cleanse him of the darkness that hung about him. They branded him with holy marks, and sprinkled him with holy herbs. They read passages of holy texts, and forced long fasts upon the boy. He grew lean, scarred, and gaunt. He had a twist to his form as he walked, like a man constantly peering about a corner, or waiting for the next blow to fall. 
 
 And fall they did. 
 
 Liam staggered back against the high wall of the temple, two older initiates penning him in. He wiped a line of blood from just beneath where the bigger of the two had split his lip. 
 
 “ Nasty little thing, aren ’ t you? ” said the second boy, winding up a punch of his own. 
 
 Liam had been taught to never strike another. In fact, he had a glyph of temperance burned into the back of his right hand. The knotted scar went white as he clenched his fist, gritting his teeth as a fresh blow to his gut slammed him back against the wall. 
 
 “ Not just evil looking, though, ” said the bigger boy, whose name was Groif. “ He killed his parents, this one. ” 
 
 “ Really? ” 
 
 Liam glared up at Groif. The big man was in his element, smiling a self-assured smile as he spread his hands. 
 
 “ Really. They say his father fell screaming to the battlefield when he was born, and that he tore a bloody hole where his mother ’ s— “ 
 
 Liam drew back his fist, the left one, and smashed it into the Groif ’ s face. The boy was actually thrown to the ground, his jaw bent at a funny angle, blood dripping from his nose. He blinked, then began to howl in pain. 
 
 Groif had been sent to bed, attended to by the finest physicians the Order had. Liam had been sent into the ancient forest to the north of the Order priory to find elderdew, a creeping vine that was said to ease pain. He had also been warned that the forest contained many monsters—boar, griffon, and bear all lurked within the old trees. To protect himself, he was given a slender knife, and a lantern. He suspected it was hoped that he never return. 
 
 To many of the initiates of the order, the forest provided something of a game. In order to prove one ’ s bravery, you would see how far you could go into the woods, and how long you could stay. Few went further than a few steps, and most wouldn ’ t even touch the leafy ferns that marked the edge of the priory ’ s control. Each, however, left a notch in the tree to prove they had been there. 
 
 Liam had, on several occasions, slipped into the leafy trees when nobody was looking. He found it a peaceful place, away from the clamor and cruelty of humanity. He never went far, but more than once he had found himself seated upon a rock, staring back toward the priory and all the pale, distant scars where his fellows had grown too scared to continue. 
 
 On this occasion, he entered the forest without pause. He could hear the boys muttering behind him. His lack of fear would not be seen as bravery. It would be seen as evil, feeling no remorse in consorting with evil. Liam could feel anger welling up inside him, but he pushed it down, stalking deeper into the trees. 
 
 He could feel himself gaining speed as he moved across the grass, bounding over bushes. He saw a mark carved into a tree, and leapt past it, streaking ahead. He saw another, and targeted it, dashing toward it, past it, onward. He continued like this hunting the little marks, deeper and deeper into the woods. They were his trail. He ran until there were no more marks. No more boundaries to push. In bitter triumph, he stepped forward and slashed the next tree with his knife. 
 
 It was only then that he realized that he did not know where he was. He looked around himself and found only a tangle of moss encrusted branches snaking down from a sky choked with leaves. There was no blue, or clouds. Only the forest existed here. He swallowed, remembering his objective. He needed to find the elderdew, then head back. 
 
 He knew he should have moved back along the cuts upon the trees, but something pulled him deeper into the forest. He walked, and as he did so he found great stones laying amongst the trees. Mist formed about his feet, until the long grass looked like the fur of some massive, black beast, and he but a flea upon its back. He lit his lantern, and pressed on. 
 
 He was about to turn back when he saw it. The elderdew was wrapped about a stump, which grew up seemingly from a solid stone covered in a thick coat of lichen. Relieved, he stepped forward, then hesitated. The stump looked… bent. Torn. The rest of the tree lay to one side, as though it had been cut aside. He lifted his lantern to examine it, and a flash of gold caught his eye. 
 
 It was a sword. Lying in the crook of the trunk, where tree had been cut, a sword stood, embedded within the stone. Elderdew wrapped up the blade and handle, holding it gentle in place alongside the stump. It was part cairn, and part monument all at once. 
 
 Liam knelt by the weapon, examining it. There was a notch in the blade. He looked at the broken tree, then at the sword. A slow realization began to come over him. The tree had been cut. 
 
 No sooner had the though crossed his mind then he heard the low rasp of breath from behind him. He turned, and his lantern swung to reveal a man standing there. He wore the order ’ s robes, but they were stained with green and brown, and years of use had tore the sleeves. A white sheen of hair hung limply about his shoulders. 
 
 “ Well now, ” he said. “ Guess this makes two of us. ” 

