The Longing Blade
The Longing Blade is the second installment in the Of Driftwood & Dreams collection of Thalrassa’s legends and lore. You can check out the full collection here. And if you haven’t, make sure to catch up on the character backstories I’m publishing under Flotsam & Jetsam.
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The Longing Blade
He knelt by the well, and his hands shook, spattering water from the ladle. He told himself it was the hunger. Eight days was a long time to go without food. You had to expect it to affect the body to some degree.
That wasn’t the truth, however. Well, it was a truth, but not the truth. He’d gone longer without food and without the tremors that threatened to spill every drop of gods-cursed water from the rusted ladle before he got it to his lips.
No, the truth was something else. He could feel it even now, shoved into the tattered strip that was all that remained of his belt. It called itself Corrine, but he suspected that was a lie.
-dig deeper. it’s here. you know it’s here.-
Aetis gripped the ladle harder, trying to force his rebellious body into submission, but the need Corrine invoked was strong. He brought the ladle’s bowl to his mouth, corroded metal rough on his blistered, cracked lips. Tepid water washed over the edge, across a tongue that felt thick and furred, and down his parched throat. It was bitter with the taste of minerals. Once, he would have spat it out, but that was a different life. That was before.
Before the knife, before Corrine.
-why do you wait? dig deeper. dig, dig, dig.-
“Shut up!” Aetis yelled, throwing the ladle across the grotto. It hit the rough stone of the far wall and clattered to the floor. Echoes of his shout reverberated back the way he’d come, like the voices of angry ghosts.
-dig, dig, dig, dig, dig-
“Shut up, shut up!” he roared, pressing his hands over his ears.
-diiiiig, diiiiiiig, diiiiiig, diiiiiiiiiiiig-
He knew what he had to do. Only one thing would silence Corrine when she was like this. Without hesitation, Aetis smashed his head into the stones of the well as hard as he could. With a thump, his body fell to the cave floor, blood seeping from the fresh gash across his forehead.
The first thing Aetis noticed when he awoke was the silence. Praise Mali, he thought. Had she gone? He felt both trepidation and dull joy at the prospect. His skull had not been so quiet since he had found the damned blade weeks ago. It was almost unnerving now to be alone in his own head.
The second thing he noticed was the quality of the light, and he felt the stab of panic. Little enough seeped into this grotto from the surrounding passages, but it was even dimmer than before. Almost sundown then. He would need to hurry. Once night fell, the caves of the Sun Mount were impassable if you did not have a torch or lantern, and he had brought neither. Corrine offered many gifts, and one of those was darksight. He’d had no need to burden himself with torches or a lantern and fuel, but now that was gone, along with her voice. Aetis absently chewed on the nails of one hand in worry.
He got slowly to his feet using the side of the well to support most of his weight. He wobbled a bit once he was upright, and stars danced in his vision. Were they real or in his head?
“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered to himself. Then he giggled. “Stars under the Sun Mount.”
With exaggerated care, he turned and began retracing his steps. He ducked the low opening between the well chamber and the next, remembering hitting his head on it on the way in. He crossed the next chamber and entered the long, low passage on the other side. So far, so good.
Aetis crossed another chamber and then came to a crossroads. “I don’t remember this,” he growled. He ransacked his memory for any hint. He remembered crawling, going down, down, down, and then... “Godsdamned nothing.”
The voice had led him here, guided him, and egged him on when he would have turned back. How would he get out without Corrine? He would die here in the dark, alone. Instinctively, his hand reached for the knife in his belt, but jerked to a stop, shaking.
“No, no, no,” he whispered in the dark. “I can do this on my own. I can’t let her back in.” Aetis cursed the day he’d found the knife, its blade still wedged in the ribs of some nameless woman, the flush of pleasure he’d felt as the metal touched his flesh. He remembered the heady feeling as Corrine introduced her gifts, the way she made him feel, the secrets she whispered in the dead of night while he slept next to his wife. But then things had changed. Master Leicster had been scared of the blade, then angry with Aetis, but he’d still sent him on this last mission.
He forced his hand away from the hilt and back to the tunnel wall. Straight? Right? Left? Back the way he’d come? With no memory of the crossing, any direction was better than standing rooted in place. He turned right.
The light was a little stronger down the new corridor. Or was it his imagination? It could mean there was an exit somewhere nearby. His breath caught in his throat at the thought of escape, of no more black stone tunnels, no more weight pressing down from above, ready to crush him to a pulp. Without realizing it, his pace sped up. Then his foot encountered something. It clanged as it skittered across the rough stone floor.
Aetis knelt and felt around for whatever he had kicked. He touched a rock, then something smooth and cool and light like bone, then cold metal. “Got it.” Where had the light gone? Had it been brighter? Surely it had.
A skittering noise came from up the corridor, talons on stone. Aetis clutched his prize and pressed his back to the cold wall, breath locked in his lungs. The noise did not come again. What had he been doing? He could just remember… something. It was there, at the edge of his mind, less than a word he couldn’t remember but more than the echo of an idea. He ground the knuckles of one hand into his eyes, but all that did was bring back the stars.
The light was too dim to see much. He could discern the object’s outline, but no details. His fingertips could tell him more. Bronze, rectangular, embossed designs that might be letters or nothing more than decorative elements. A belt buckle. He cast it aside, and it landed on the floor with a ping. Not what he was looking for, but if a belt buckle was here this far beneath the Sun Mount, then surely his goal was close. He felt around, moving in ever-widening half-circles, scrabbling in the dust and debris.
His questing fingers encountered crumbling fabric, the smooth dome of a skull, then more cold metal: a sword by the feel of the blade. Gently, lest he injure himself, he felt along its length. Deep nicks told of hard, desperate use, possibly here in these very tunnels. Then his hand found the end; jagged metal met his fingertips, and he jerked back with a soft cry. A broken sword.
Not what he sought, but closer, closer. His breath came faster. Cold sweat beaded his forehead, running down hollow cheeks. It was here; he could feel it. Just within reach. It would be his. His stomach clenched with need that folded him over and drove his hand toward his side. His fingers found the pommel, slid down the grip, across the guard, to the blade. It was warm. Waiting. Expectant.
-i knew you couldn’t stay away. you’re weak. you need me.-
“Yes, damn you. Give me your sight. I can’t do this without you, and Master Leicster needs…”
-you turned away. spurned me. i should find another who is worthy of my gifts.-
Those words sent a shiver down Aetis’ spine. If Corrine left, if she would no longer guide him, he was lost. Beyond hope. “No, please. I promise.”
-and what is that worth, your promise? You’ve broken your word time and again. your mother. even your wife. master leicster saw through your lies. worthlesssssss-
Pain washed over Aestis, but he could not turn away. “No, please! It’s not true. It wasn’t like that! They know the truth. Even Master Leicster…. He sent me here!” His pulse hammered so hard it blurred his vision. “Don’t take it away. Your gift — I’ve no other way to find it!”
-woooooorrrrtthhhlllleessssssss-
“Don’t say that!” he pleaded.
-worthless, liar, worthless, cheat, worthless, thief-
“No, no,” he begged. He could feel her retreating from him. The blade grew cooler, the voice colder and more distant. “No, stay. I’ll do anything!”
-anything-
“Anything.”
And with that, the blade gifted him her sight.
Aetis searched the area, half convinced he was exactly where he needed to be and that he’d found it on his own, without Corrine’s help. He saw bones, some scattered, others still lying where their owners had fallen. Rotted cloth and leather, bent and broken sword blades, and discarded torches told the tale. No imperial soldiers, these. Rebels, maybe?
Legends banned by royal edict murmured of a time when the empire teetered on the brink as a hidden enemy rose up and sought to slay the emperor and his heirs. Only a timely escape through these very tunnels had kept Rakka’s imperial line intact. Darker whispers hinted that no such escape had occurred, that the emperor had died screaming under tons of black rock, along with his empress and their children. If he could just find it, he could confirm the tale and warn that impostors now ruled from the Black Keep.
He shook his head to clear it from distracting thoughts. All that mattered was finding it. All that mattered… he glanced down to see his hand on the hilt of the dagger still thrust through his belt. Beautiful, he thought.
He’d thought it plain when he first found it, but there was so much more than its simple but elegant appearance. He ran a finger down the blade. So cold. Not bronze, like most other blades, and not gray-black, like the Rakkian steel only nobles could afford. It was a light silver and seemed to glow within itself in the dark of the tunnels. “So beautiful,” he said, a pang of longing lancing through his gut. Need burned within him. Need for…
Aetis jerked his hand back and shook his head again. He had no time for such foolishness. He plunged onward, magically augmented sight allowing him to avoid the chasms that opened beneath his feet and the debris littering the floor. It was clear to him now.
There had been a battle, and it had raged throughout the tunnels beneath the Sun Mount. Most of the remains he came across were reavers or raiders or rebels. Here and there, an imperial soldier’s remains could be seen, marked by chainmail, spears, and splintered shields.
There seemed to be little rhyme or reason to the carnage. One tunnel’s floor was littered with the bones of assailants, while the next one was clear, but discarded weapons lay strewn everywhere. It made no sense, but then little did these days.
His magical vision flickered, grayed, and then returned dimmer than before. He pulled the knife from his belt, and it was better. And this way, he could feel the warmth in the blade, the longing, the heat that dripped down his fingers and splattered onto the floor.
No, that wasn’t right.
He looked at his hand and found that he was clutching the blade so tightly it bit through the flesh of his fingers. Blood fell in ruby drops, and he stared at them, fascinated by the play of crimson and shadow.
There was that tug in his gut again, a hook wrapped in entrails. It would be so simple, he thought. And what a fitting place for it. He could lie down and let everything just flow away, become just one more set of remains in this nonsensical maze.
The glint of gold in the gloom ahead brought him back. His chest heaved, and sweat soaked through his tunic. Aetis still gripped the knife blade, its edge embedded so deeply in his flesh now he was afraid to remove it. No matter. He had another hand. One to hold and one to search. Yes, it was fair.
He laughed in the darkness, and the sound echoed, rippling outward. Fair. Corrine would have mocked him for the thought, but she was silent now. He knew she was near, though. He could feel it in the bones of his wounded hand, like belladonna-spiked sunshine.
Aetis rubbed at his face with his unwounded hand. “Why did I stop?” he asked, or tried to, but the words would not come. “What’s happening to me?” he tried again. More success this time. He was fine, then. Just tired. Woozy from blood loss. Had he lost that much? There came the flash of gold again in the distance, and he ignored his hand, pushing forward into a stumbling run.
The tunnel was clearer here; the walls were worked with human tools rather than the earth’s fire. Ahead, a clot of darkness lay across the floor. The glimmer came from there.
He came at last to it in a rush, crashing painfully to his knees on the rough floor. Aetis sat there, mouth agape, trying to make sense of what he saw, but deep down he knew. “They died here,” he said, thickly.
-long dead, dead, dead.-
“Shut up,” he said, but he barely meant it. It was too close now for him to worry. The end of his quest. The truth behind the whispers. Longing threatened to burn his heart to ash within his chest.
A mound of bones and weapons rose before him. It looked to be mostly raiders, but imperial armor peeked through here and there. The gold glint came from within the pile.
Feverishly, he tore through, tossing bones and pikes and shields out of his way as best he could with one good hand. It wouldn’t do to put the knife down now, even if it meant the use of both hands. He wasn’t sure if he could put it down or if he even wanted to. It felt like part of him now.
At last, he heaved aside the desiccated husk of a raider, and there it was. Or they, rather. Three corpses, as wizened as their attackers. One large and two smaller, one of which had to have been a child.
And there, in the dust and bone fragments, was what had called to him: a golden crown cunningly shaped to resemble ocean waves. “The Crown of Seas,” he gasped. It was true then. Here lay Royce, the last true Rakkian emperor, his wife, and children, long dead. Aetis searched among the dead. Yes, those remains must be the empress’s. And those — a child, no doubt about it. But where were the other two? Rance, the emperor’s eldest, and Raina, his daughter, were not among the dead.
He grabbed the crown, feeling the wave crests dig into his flesh. “Who rules from the Black Keep then?” he asked the dark. The implications were staggering. “Master Leicster must know,” he rasped, and then his darksight failed.
“Corrine?” he asked, but he knew the answer. The blade was like ice embedded in his hand.
-you have your heart’s desire. our contract is ended.-
“No, not yet,” he argued. “I need you to help me leave this place. Just a little longer. I must report to Master Leicster.”
Corrine did not answer, but he thought faint sobbing came from the blade. It was so cold that it burned within his hand now. Aetis dug the blade from his flesh, intent on discarding it. If Corrine would not help him, he would try to find his own way, hopeless though that might be.
-you promised.-
“Not yet!” he cried, wavering, as realization balanced with longing.
-anything.-
The word set the hook of need deep in his bowels again. On the verge of casting the knife away, he found himself cradling it instead. The blade was so cool and smooth beneath his hot, slick fingers. Streaks of blood pooled on the metal but only momentarily. The blade absorbed the liquid, drinking Aetis’ lifeblood greedily.
-anything.-
“Anything,” he said, his voice twining with Corrine’s. The hook in his gut was hot now. He burned with need, and the only way to satisfy it was with cold steel. He held the knife in his wounded hand and thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.
Then his vision doubled. It was no longer just lonely, lost Aetis sitting on the cave floor. Corrine was with him, her somehow familiar ghostly form a ragged echo of his own position. Aetis knew where he had seen her before. His mind flashed back to when he’d found the blade, embedded in the body of a young woman, nameless at the time. Aetis returned her name.
“Corrine.”
-yes. make me whole. help me live again.-
“But what about my life? My mission? I must warn them…”
-listen closely, we have little time. the blade will only allow you to survive until your longing is quenched. then, you must take your place. that is its bargain, and it’s ironclad.-
“No, I can’t die here, not yet, not now!”
-you won’t die. it’s a prison and a curse. a life for a life. fulfill their longing. the knife decides, and now it’s your turn.-
Understanding dawned then. “I’ll never take someone else’s life just so I can live again. I won’t do what you’ve done to me.”
Corrine’s weeping washed through him.
-you don’t know! the knife, it’s alive and it’s hungry. ravenous for pain and suffering. it hurts you until all you can do is what it bids. find another, find another, find another. that’s its longing.-
Pain erupted in Aetis’ body. He glanced down and found the knife embedded in his own ribs, his wounded hand falling to his thigh. The blade was cold fire, and the sensation was spreading. Already, his vision was dimming. Aetis would die here, lost in the dark, the keeper of a world-shaking secret.
“Are you free, then?”
Corrine’s answer was exultant joy tinged with gray despair, birth pangs as a new body forged of cave-night and blood iron formed. She unfolded her new arms and tested her legs, talons clacking. Her eyes were the color of shadows at dawn.
“Find Leicster. Warn him. Give him this…” he gripped the crown with his one good hand. “Promise me.”
-anything.-
Thanks for reading! I’m grateful that you’re here.
While you’re here, why not:
Check out A Dread Tide Rising, book 1 of The Empire of Waves Cycle (The Longing Blade is set 300 years before the events of ADTR).
Dig deeper into the world of Thalrassa and learn more about the folks who make up the Talon.
Check out historical fiction and fantasy unrelated to Thalrassa.
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