The Paper Sword (6 page)

“She did not
conveniently
die,” Xemion interjected in a voice that was almost a shout. “In fact, she —”

Rotan Smedenage gasped. “Do not raise your voice to me, boy!” he shrieked. He took out his lath and, glaring at Xemion, began to tap it ominously in his palm.

“Xemion, please. Let me answer,” Saheli said, her voice trembling.

“Well, no. No,” Smedenage snapped, attempting to re-establish his authority. “I am rather interested in hearing his voice.”

Xemion glowered and clenched his jaw but remained quiet. Rotan Smedenage also managed to calm himself a little. “Now, tell me what you know about a man with a red hand.”

Both Saheli and Xemion remained quiet but Smedenage did not miss the guilty look that passed between them.

“I'm going to ask you one more time, and you had better answer me. What do you know of a man with a red hand?”

Xemion shrugged. He had vowed to say nothing. Saheli shook her head. She, too, felt bound by the vow even though she hadn't shaken Vallaine's hand.

“I see.” A quiet coldness had now come over Rotan Smedenage. “Well then, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you both to come with me for a little visit to the underearth.”

“But sir,” Saheli pleaded. “I think we can —”

“Do not dare to question my authority!” When Rotan Smedenage bellowed like this all the great mass of his body gave such a deep guttural thunder to his words that they seemed to shake the very ground. “If you do, you question the authority of the entire Pathan empire!”

For a second both Saheli and Xemion watched desperately as Chiricoru, her guardian sense alerted, came closer to Smedenage.

“We're not going anywhere with you,” Xemion insisted in his grim monotone. Smedenage could see that the young man looked much more willing to defend himself than most of the little children he was used to dealing with.

“Oh, won't you?” he said sinisterly. With surprising speed the portly Smedenage wheeled about and grabbed at Chiricoru, catching her right at the crook of one wing. The other flapped frantically and she began to honk and squawk in terror. Smedenage held on tight, avoiding Chiricoru's beak as she tried to peck his face with her broad swan's bill.

“Let her go!” Xemion screamed as he dashed forward. But Smedenage got hold of the poor bird's neck.

“I will not!” he retorted indignantly. “I am an official of the Pathan government and I am terminating this chimerant,” he shouted with clear joy. Rotan Smedenage had less than a second to squeeze hard on Chiricoru's throat before the point of Xemion's painted sword reached his thick neck.

“Stop!” Xemion screamed. Rotan Smedenage's moment to use his own new sword had clearly come, but he had been expecting at most to face some simple ineffective toy sword. This was clearly a full-size sword and in the deepening twilight it had a silvery, luminous glow to it like that of the stars. He quickly noted also the look of strength and fury in Xemion's eyes and as the forward pressure of the young man's weapon increased at his neck he strategically abandoned any semblance of courage and dropped the bird instantly to the ground.

“Get down on the ground,” Xemion growled, pressing the point closer into the man's flaccid jowls. “And give me your sword.”

“Don't kill me,” Rotan Smedenage protested meekly as he handed over his blade. His face was now as white as it had previously been beet red.

“Get right down on the ground,” Xemion shouted gruffly as he sheathed his painted sword and took up instead the examiner's. Rotan Smedenage quickly did as he was told. And then Xemion, in his scorn and anger, made a mistake. “You fool,” he spat as he slid the painted sword into its makeshift scabbard at his side. “It wasn't even a real sword. It's nothing more than a painted stick. But now I do have a real sword — your sword.” He lifted the sword over the man threateningly. “And I ought to cut your head off with it.”

“Maid,” the examiner whined desperately to Saheli who had put her staff down and was now holding Chiricoru in her arms, attempting to comfort her. “Please don't let him hurt me.”

“You hurt our bird, you cruel man,” she screamed, glaring at him with cold protective fury. Rotan Smedenage quickly shut up but Chiricoru did the opposite. Startled by such a fierce tone from one who had only ever uttered gentle phrases, she began to squirm and honk grievously in Saheli's arms with such vigour that Saheli dropped her. Automatically, Xemion lunged to catch the bird and this gave Rotan Smedenage the moment he'd been waiting for. He popped up from the ground and ran toward a small opening he'd seen in the hedge. Xemion quickly passed Chiricoru back into Saheli's arms, lifted Smedenage's sword over his head, and ran after him.

Unfortunately for Smedenage, he'd charged into an old, overgrown part of a tunnel through the surrounding rose hedge. It narrowed as it proceeded and soon he was far too big for it. Thorns pierced and scraped at him as he forced his panicky way onward. Hardly aware of the numerous rips and tears in his portly torso, he barrelled at last out the other side, a ragged, bloody mess. But where was his boar? Desperately he whistled for it. It didn't come. Fearful for his life, still whistling, he ran on into the darkness under the trees, Xemion in pursuit.

“Stop!” Xemion yelled. But Rotan Smedenage didn't stop.

“Hey!” Smedenage kept calling for his boar in a hoarse whisper. “Here. Here.” But there was still no earth pig and he could hear Xemion's sure stride coming closer through the undergrowth.

“I'll set the Pathan dogs on you!” Smedenage shrieked as he tore forward. And then his foot alighted on something that was not ground. It was, in fact, thin air. Rotan Smedenage had just stepped over the edge of a deep ravine.

An Unfortunate Fall

I
n
the front room of the tower tree, Chiricoru lay slumped beside the spindle, a wing extended to touch the floor where Anya Kuzelnika's foot had once rested. Only a month ago she had sat here weaving a new cloak for Saheli. Its colourful threads, like those of an unravelled rainbow, still radiated out from the loom and over the carpet in all directions just as she had left them. Unable to comfort the bird, Saheli set about lighting the seasonal jack-o'-lanterns that hung overhead, but their strange orange grins seemed suddenly hideous and improper, so she removed the candles and arranged them in a solemn semi-circle on the table beside the sofa. At last Xemion returned, Rotan Smedenage's sword still hanging limply from his hand.

“He's gone,” he announced, his voice still trembling with rage. “He fell over the cliff.”

Saheli's mouth hung open in shock. “That's awful. Are you sure?”

“Not entirely. I definitely heard him scream. I think I heard an impact. Then I found his boar just standing there in the forest, so I smacked his behind and sent him running away down the path. So, whether he's dead or alive, he won't be bothering us too soon. And even if he does, I still have his weapon.” With some distaste he leaned Rotan Smedenage's bronze blade in the corner, forgetting the painted sword in the scabbard at his side.

“This is terrible,” Saheli said.

“How is Chiricoru?” Xemion bent down to look closer at the injured swan. Saheli shook her head and opened her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“It is lucky her neck isn't broken,” she answered finally. “In the morning I will have to pick some comfrey and make her a poultice.”

“In the morning,” Xemion said as gently as possible, “we will have to take Chiricoru and leave this place.”

Saheli closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “Oh no.”

“Even if that man is dead, someone will come to find him. And when they do, it won't be just one man with one sword. It'll be many men with many swords — and Pathan dogs.”

She shook her head and wrung her hands. But she knew he was right. “This is not a good time for Chiricoru to travel,” Saheli said, dread and desperation in her voice. “Her neck is all swollen. If it gets much worse I'm afraid she might not be able to breathe.”

“I know,” Xemion said bitterly. “We'll have to carry her.”

“Well, where will we go?” Saheli asked. But she already knew the answer.

Xemion shrugged. “There's only one way to go.”

Saheli frowned at this but she nodded in the affirmative.

“At least we have a real weapon now,” Xemion said, nodding toward the bronze sword in the corner.

All that night while Chiricoru gasped and rattled, they gathered supplies to take with them on their journey. Xemion collected anything that might be used as a weapon. He found an old copper rake and some cutlery, including a bronze bread knife. These he gathered in the corner with Smedenage's sword, ready for their flight, while Saheli secured the locket and stuffed a jute bag with enough food for two days' walk.

Just before dawn they tried to lift the sleeping Chiricoru delicately into the second jute sack they had rigged to carry her in. Unfortunately, they must have disturbed the bird in the midst of some kind of avian nightmare for she awoke with a start and for a second her mighty wings flapped open and she came at them hissing with fury. This sent Xemion sprawling back against the table where the painted sword, still at his side, struck one of the candles.

It was a big candle and the moment its stream of molten tallow hit the carpet, it ignited. Saheli screamed. Chiricoru gobbled, terrified, as Xemion stamped at the flames. He might have succeeded in putting the fire out if Chiricoru hadn't spread her wings and run fearfully for the door, sending the rest of the candles toppling to the floor, their tallow launched in ten different directions. Like starved beasts that had not eaten for years, the flames spilled across the carpet, ate their way up the threads, and ignited the half-finished cloak in the loom.

“Take Chiricoru,” Xemion screamed, still trying to stamp the fire out. But even as Saheli grabbed the bird and fled, one of the flames ran along a green thread from the inferno of the loom to the wicker of the divan and in an instant it began to devour the sofa. From there it leapt across the floor and onto the wood and wicker of the other furniture. It consumed the tapestry on the south wall in an instant, its famished tongue darting up toward one of the high windows. Xemion yelled as the fire began to climb up his boots and singe his cloak.

Outside, Saheli was still trying to secure the frantic Chiricoru in the carrying bag when Xemion burst out of the door, his cloak on fire, his boots aflame. By the time he managed to suffocate the flames in his clothing, embers were beginning to fall from the scorched, crackling canopy above. Xemion looked for a moment as though he might be ready to dash back into the house.

“His sword is still in there,” he shouted over the increasing roar of the fire.

Saheli shook her head. “No, Xemion. You'll have to leave it.”

“But we'll have nothing to defend ourselves with,” he protested.

“No! You'll get burned to death in there.”

Xemion clenched his jaw angrily but as the flames continued to rise he saw the sense in it. He touched the hilt of the mock sword at his side. “Well, we do have this,” he said.

Saheli did not look the least bit comforted. She shook her head and frowned and hurriedly returned to her task, finally managing to get the bird securely fastened onto her back in the sling-like device she had turned the bag into. The two of them dashed toward the surrounding thicket and through the tunnel to the other side. There they turned to see the orange flames rising up through the branches of the tower tree.

“I'm so sorry, Anya,” Saheli yelled in a choked voice. “I should never have moved those candles.”

“Goodbye, Anya Kuzelnika,” Xemion called out sadly.

Before they set off into the eastern forest they examined the edge of the crevice where Rotan Smedenage had ended his flight last night. At the bottom of the rock face they could clearly see a black Pathan boot emerging from the undergrowth.

“Do you think the rest of him is down there?” Saheli asked quietly.

Xemion bit his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes. “Well, he definitely went over the edge, but the only way we'd know for sure is if we went down there and found him.”

Saheli shook her head. “I don't think we can. It would be far too dangerous to climb down there.”

“I agree. So …”

“So, let's depart then,” Saheli said somberly.

With that the two of them, aided more by the light of their burning home than by that of the incipient dawn, proceeded into the forest in the only direction they could: East toward the ancient capital of Ulde. East toward the rebellion.

Saheli rubbed her palm repeatedly down the side of her leg as she walked. “I really wish you had not shaken that man's hand,” she said.