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  This is a work of fiction. All names, places, characters and events stem from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or locales, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author

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  Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Ford, Sam, author.

  Title: Spirit sword / Sam Ford.

  Description: St. Louis, MO: River Styx Publishing, 2019.

  Summary: Cale has always dreamed of finding adventure. When a Spirit Sword, the last of an ancient race of sentient weapons, falls into his hands, adventure finds him.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019906698 | ISBN 978-1-61704-400-7 (Hardcover) | 978-1-61704-401-4 (pbk.) | 978-1-61704-402-1 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH Swords--Juvenile fiction. | Adventure fiction. | Fantasy fiction. | CYAC Swords--Fiction. | BISAC YOUNG ADULT FICTION / Fantasy / General | YOUNG ADULT FICTION / Coming of Age

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.F661 Sp 2019 | DDC [Fic]--dc23

  Map by Tiffany Munro

  Cover by Sarah Kaufman

  Copyright © 2019 Sam Ford

  All rights reserved

  For my Dad,

  my very own Spirit Sword.

  Chapter I

  The Pig Boy

  The morning was a bright, sunny day in late summer. Cale had wanted to see the village before it roused itself, but that seemed a tall order. The sun had already risen above the Fog Hills and people were surely already outside working.

  The village of Urt, nestled beneath the Fire Mountains of Nubia to the north, lay quiet and still. Not once could anyone recall a single exciting thing happening there. The wheat and maize were sewn in the spring before the rains and harvested in the fall when they were chest-high and golden. There was a blacksmith, a butcher, a baker and a mead hall. The children ran through the woods barefoot, grew tall, got married, had children of their own and died. Occasionally a traveling merchant would visit and make the rounds through the valley, but little beyond that happened in the village of Urt. It was a frightfully dull place.

  Cale Tannor longed to see it more than anything in the world.

  Once a month, their father sent his eldest children into town to trade for supplies. This month Cale had been allowed to travel with them halfway. He would finally have a chance to lay eyes on the village after so long. Though small for thirteen, he did not let fatigue or his frail body stop his excitement or dreams.

  He raced his sister Tully up the hill. "Come on, we're going to miss it!"

  "Yeah, yeah," Aaron, the oldest, answered back. "Always in a rush with nowhere to go."

  The Tannor family farm was less of a farm and more of a scar upon the earth, every crop planted destined to fail. Cheap, rocky soil ensured the earth was not fit for growing. Their father instead had chosen to raise one of the gods' most ungrateful animals; hogs. Raising pigs was not an entirely undignified profession and was only the second worst job in the world, if one counted latrine cleaning amongst the list. Rendering the meat and selling the tallow turned only a tiny profit. However, it ensured the family would not starve to death come winter. If only the rest of the village appreciated their work, as well.

  "Look!" Cale exclaimed, cresting the ridge. "There it is!"

  Laid out before them, Urt consisted of perhaps a dozen wooden structures, with only the small mountain shrine formed from stone. Another two dozen farmhouses spread across the valley. The Tsarogota River twisted between farms before rounding a bend and leaving the valley to the south.

  And in all that space there were exactly three books. Cale had read them all multiple times. Occasionally, a fur trapper would come into town selling supplies and another book would pass hands. Cale always made sure to read it before it left town.

  "I told you you'd see it one day." Tully smiled, touching his shoulder.

  Cale was so excited he tried to take in everything at once. Tully stood beside him, practically bouncing as well. A year older and a head taller, they had the same face and chestnut brown hair. Out of all their siblings, the pair looked the most like their mother.

  Their older siblings slowly trudged their way up the path, Aaron and Byron pulling the cart loaded half full of tallow. Regina helped push from behind, mindful not to step on stones or thistles with her bare feet.

  "Look at him," Byron mocked, his pudgy face red with sweat pouring into his eyes. "He thinks he gets to go."

  "I'm the only one who hasn't been." Cale tried not to whine, but the exertion of the climb had worn him out more than he’d expected.

  "I've only been once." Tully blushed shyly.

  "He tried to run away once, but he was too scared to leave home. Too scared to leave his mamma." Byron leaned in close. Cale turned red, but Tully lightly squeezed his hand.

  "You can see the old tannery," Aaron said, then trailed off.

  The building was dark brown and covered in lichen. Even from this distance, there was no mistaking the aged weathering and rot that had set in. Half the roof had collapsed and the older tanning pools had either long since dried up or the river had reclaimed them.

  Farther down the river, across from the dilapidated dwelling, stood a new tannery, lively with action. Tanners and their apprentices scurried about like ants. Having doubled both the tanning pools and the footprint of the property, the new tannery breathed life into the old business.

  "Did we really use to live there?" asked Cale.

  "Well, you never did, runt." Byron pushed his brother, causing him to stumble. Cale pushed back, but Byron didn't even budge.

  "Aaron and I did," Regina put in. "When we were very little. Before Father... lost it."

  "You mean it was stolen," Aaron muttered under his breath.

  For generations before Cale had been born, his family had owned and operated a tannery in the village. However, with the seasonal nature of the sleepy mountains, and business being what it was, their father had developed a penchant for whoring, drinking and dicing.

  Then, at the start of winter almost two decades prior, the Simmons family had arrived in town. While strangers were rarely welcome in tiny villages like Urt, the strangers’ hospitality and cheerfulness brought an openness and warmth to all the villagers--all save the Tannor children's father. A drunken insult, a foolish wager and an unlucky roll of the die later, the Tannors and their two young children were cast out into the harsh beginnings of winter.

  Cale did not truly understand what the problem was. Though their father always threw a mighty tantrum when the Simmons came to call, they had never been anything but nice to Cale. Once they even let him borrow the book they owned. Perhaps everyone else was just being too hard on them.

  "Take a good look, and then head back. We've got to get this into town before nightfall," Aaron urged.

  Regina craned her neck to observe the sun's position. "It's after noon. Let's take a break."

  "But--"

  "We can eat the lunch mother packed for us. It's all downhill from here, so we will make good time."

  Regina had a face bearing sharp features that brooked no argument. About the only thing she shared with Cale and Tully were their green eyes. Beyond that, she was Aaron's twin in every way. Even their father sometimes forgot who
was older.

  Lounging in the soft alpine grass, Cale reclined his head in Tully's lap while Aaron and Byron fought over the last of the salt pork. Tully offered him one of her slices, but he simply shook his head. With a diet consisting of little more than salt pork, the smell of it tended to turn his stomach more often than not. Such was the case of the barley bread and bone marrow pudding for breakfast that morning--it still sat heavy on his gut.

  Instead, he enjoyed the early afternoon sunlight in the late summer. Chewing on a blade of grass to calm his stomach and aching legs, Cale lazily closed his eyes and slowly drifted off with his hat across his eyes.

  It was a big floppy straw hat, easy to make and even easier to use. It kept the sun and rain off Cale's head, surely, but the problem was he was never allowed anywhere without it. As the youngest child, their mother worried so, fearful he might become sunburnt or catch a cold.

  "Tis a good day." Tully pulled the hat from Cale's head, lightly brushing his hair through her fingers. "Shall we play a game?"

  "We don't have time for games," Aaron groused.

  "Yeah," Byron muttered around the pork in his mouth. "We have work to do."

  "How about a story?" Regina offered.

  Tully clapped her hands in delight, but Cale could picture Aaron's eyes rolling. Storytelling was an activity only children often partook of together.

  "Once upon a time..." Tully began with a smile.

  Aaron continued. "There was a great man who owned a strong and thriving business. One day it was stolen from him."

  "By his own foolish choices." Regina sat on the cart as Aaron scowled at her.

  "And he had five children." Cale put in.

  "Four." Byron interrupted, laughing. "The fifth was a pig boy!"

  Dour, Cale remained silent while his brothers laughed at him. Even Regina smiled lightly, while trying to kick Byron. Only Tully didn't react. She kept lightly brushing his hair, bleeding him of his worries.

  "And what is wrong with being a pig boy?” Tully asked. “For most legends begin with the unlikeliest of heroes." Her beautiful, kind voice silenced them all. The brook continued to babble and the wind blew the scattered shrubs hither and to, but even so, Cale thought the world itself fell silent to listen to his sister. "This pig boy, with a kind heart and a sharp wit, outshone all his brothers and sisters. Surely he was destined for grand adventures.”

  "His father," Aaron continued, narrowing his eyes on Tully, "Fearing the boy might grow an ego, sent him away into the cold world, where none of his siblings could follow. There he would be alone."

  "Completely alone," said Byron with a grin.

  "But he wasn't alone. Not truly." Tully stared her brothers down. "He had always longed to see the world, and this was just the first step. And adventures are nothing without companions. As long as one has stories, they are never alone."

  "What's so great about stories?" Byron asked Aaron, who only shook his head. Aaron could barely write his name. Byron couldn't even manage that.

  "Stories are everything. For without stories, how would we find our way forward?" Tully smiled sweetly. "We might lose our place in the world and without them be left in darkness."

  "Finding your way is easy, Tully. You just look where you're going and then move." Aaron was growing angry.

  Tully reprimanded their oldest brother with the softest smile. "Some things you see with your eyes. Others, with your heart."

  "Some people think the gods are with us when we read," Regina offered.

  "I doubt the gods have any power outside the mountains," huffed Aaron.

  "What is beyond the valley?" Byron asked. It was unlike Byron to be so inquisitive.

  "More mountains, likely as not." Aaron answered knowingly.

  Cale grew excited. This was something he actually knew about. "I read there's another land beyond the Fire Mountains, a land kissed by the sun, with golden beaches and seas as sweet as honeyed wine. They have dragons, lizards as big as a house. And the men have skin burnt as dark as soot, who wear nothing. Nor do their women. They don't know what snow is. They wear golden jewelry and carry red swords they worship as their god."

  "Sounds like the Red Witches." Aaron spat over his shoulder. Byron did so, as well.

  "I thought all the Imperial Knights were gone?" Byron glanced around nervously, as if one of the sword-wielding witches might crawl out from the underbrush looking to skewer his stout belly.

  "I guess some of them survived," Regina answered in a quiet tone.

  "No. They didn't." Aaron stood, glaring angrily at Cale. "His book was wrong. Paper lies. It lies about dead witches and it lies about deed ownership. The only thing you can trust is another man's word. Your word is your bond. Understand?"

  Cale and Tully both nodded slowly. Cale had been feeling better, but facing down his eldest brother sent him white as linen. Aaron stared at them for a moment, then walked to the cart.

  "We're heading down now. You two should go back. We should return after dark or on the morrow."

  Regina leapt off the cart as it lurched forward. Aaron and Byron had already crested the ridge and were starting down the other side. Standing with her hands clasped behind her back, her curly black shoulder-length hair fluttered round her face as she smiled sadly. Waving to her youngest siblings, she turned, following after their brothers.

  "You ready to go?" asked Tully.

  Cale sighed deeply.

  "I know, but I have mending to tend to, and you have to mind the hogs."

  Cale crawled to his feet before offering his sister his hand. She took it gratefully, offering a little curtsy. Cale bowed slightly, and she curtsied again. Both of them giggled at the silliness of it.

  "Come." Tully offered her hand in turn.

  "Did you mean what you said earlier? In the story?"

  "Of course. Books are wonderful adventures and true friends for life."

  "No." Cale stopped walking, letting a little distance form between them. "About me being destined for greatness."

  Tully looked away, a finger to her lips, a gust of wind stealing her thoughts as well as her words. She took a moment to compose herself. "I think, perhaps, in your own way, that you may be great, yes."

  "That doesn't sound like dragon slaying to me."

  "Mother says there are many kinds of dragons and many kinds of bravery. Father has his own kind, as well, I believe. After a fashion."

  "But I don't want to be like Father--that's Aaron. I want to go on adventures and save princesses and see the world," Cale whined.

  Tully thought for a moment before walking over and embracing her little brother. Lifting his hat, she looked him in the eyes. "Fine. We'll go together, you and I."

  "You mean it?"

  "Yes. Someday, we will leave this hill and valley behind and strike off on our own adventure. Sound good?" Tully smiled.

  "Yes." Cale smiled in return, taking her hand in his once more.

  Somehow, when he returned home to the pigs, things didn't seem quite so bad. Maybe pig farming wasn't the second worst job in the world. Perhaps it was only the fifth worst.

  Chapter II

  The supper, like the conversation surrounding the table, was sparse. It was a humble meal, consisting of pork and beans with a single loaf of cornbread to share amongst seven people. Aaron, Regina and Byron had returned that evening, excited with news from the town. Byron would not stop pestering Cale with tales of his excursion, teasing him about being left behind.

  Cale, meanwhile, was exhausted from tending the pigs all day, a job he was not normally required to share with his father. Blistered, sore and too tired to move, he picked at his food with little enthusiasm. Their father, who had spent his day plowing the rocky soil and cursing another failed harvest, was already in his cups, listening sourly to his children prattle on.

  "I negotiated the best price I could for the tallow, Pa." Aaron put in, eager for any measure of approval. Their father only grunted. "Also, I met Jenny at the store."

&nbs
p; Jenny was their cousin who worked at the general store. Cale had never met her. Their fathers had arranged a marriage between her and Aaron in one of Pa's gambits to get back into town. She was Byron's age, and nice enough, Cale had heard. The only problem was, he knew Aaron was sweet on the towheaded girl at the bakery, and Regina said Jenny was in love with a lumberjack. Not that either of them had any say in the matter whatsoever. Young men and women alike were bound by the wishes of their parents.

  "The supplies in town are running a bit low," Regina quietly told their mother.

  "Trouble in town?"

  "They said there's going to be a war!" Byron laughed. Cale and Tully both perked up at this.

  "They did not. Don't be telling fibs." Regina smacked her brother. "The folks at the general store said there's to be trouble, but they didn’t say anything about a war."

  "Oh my. Should we be worried?" asked their mother. "Is it the Plains People?"

  "Could be. But more likely than not it's just a border skirmish." Aaron tried to sooth her nervous disposition. "But just to be safe, they did call in a Ranger."

  "A Ranger? Oh, my!" Their mother flushed.

  "I don't think it can be Indians," Cale offered meekly. He read that the nomadic tribes usually stayed near the Indus River and rarely crossed the mountains. Indian raids were a real fear for villagers but a rare thing in reality. "We're kinda far for them. Maybe just regular bandits?"

  "Shut up, runt. What do you know? You weren't there," Aaron jeered.

  "Yeah," Byron joined in, punching Cale in the shoulder. Hard. Cale rubbed his arm and tried desperately not to let his brother see the tears in his eyes.

  "The people in that town are damned liars," Their father spoke, his voice like the rumbling of a mountain. "Those people can all rot for what they did to us. Not that it'll matter, they're nothing but liars. There'll be no trouble. There'll be no war. I don't want you going into town anymore, boys."