Dawn Blade Part 3 (Fiction)

Nora’s foot smashed into the door with a blistering force. The old frame crumbled beneath the effort of her attack, dust billowing up as the full weight of it hit the floor beneath. Nora covered her eyes to shield them from the dirt filled air. This turned out to be a mistake.

As soon as her arm came down, Beron’s axe came sharply into view, aimed directly for her skull. It sliced through the air fast and firm. Nora’s eyes locked onto it, and her sword hand came up with her trusted blade in tow. The solid metals clashed with a loud ring, Nora’s arm slightly faltering to the full force attack from Beron.

“Nice to see you again, friend.” His voice came out gritty as the air surrounding them.

“Likewise,” Nora said through clenched teeth, pushing off his advance and rolling to the side. She turned, and they faced off against one another. The blade of dawn shone with a bright, metallic orange. Beron noticed.

“Looks like you’ve got an odd new sword. Guess these plains have finally begun to treat you well. I had heard things.” He laughed. “Some were saying you were the new Broken. Said your mind got all sorts of messed up by this place.” He shook his head in mock pity. “You really should have known better than to come after me. You need your rest, Nora. For your health!”

Nora laughed. It was not humorless. “You sure do play the villain smoothly. A lot occurred while I was away, it seems.”

Beron nodded. “They refused me my clear position. I had no choice.”

The tip of the dawn blade pointed directly at Beron’s beating heart. Nora’s arm muscles flexed easily with the motion. Dawn brought her blade power, the magic of it flowing through her, awakening even her most docile potentials. “You always have choice, Beron. Until today.” The tip of the blade set aflame, the fire spreading down to the hilt with a bright fury.  “Today I take that away from you. Among other things.”

It was Beron’s turn to laugh. “Do tell.”

Nora shrugged. “Arms, sight, dignity…” Her legs bent at the knee as she readied her assault. This would not be fun. Just necessary. “Whatever muses might strike me in the moment.”

Beron grinned a dark grin, one Nora was not accustomed to, one he had learned in the time they had spent apart. So much has happened, she thought absentmindedly. Now, this… “Let us see who this dawn favors!” He smashed something underneath his skin, making a sound like lighting cutting stone. The veins in his arms became a dark purple, and his already protruding muscles seemed to dance beneath his flesh with new-found might.

Nora swallowed, then looked down the length of her blade. The tip still pointed towards Beron’s heart. She felt as if the sword was nodding to her, confident and stalwart.

She nodded, back to the sword, and to Beron. “Let’s.”

Dawn Thread (Poem)

Errant fable,

the dawn is threading its way through your bones.

Your pages are hacked apart by the voices in your head

but if you would only tell them everything will be fine by the end

then perhaps your between-the-lines would be silent.

 

You speak as if your spine is still.

You wander like dream through

window sill.

 

Aim at the cloud,

and the rain will never touch

what isn’t meant to be translated

from text

into mud.

 

Dawn Blade (Fiction) (pt. 2)

Read Part 1 here.

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The border of dawn broke gently against the edge of her blade, her tight grip causing it to caress the light, rather than cut it. Nora’s countenance was far more serious than she liked, causing far more damage to the morning star than her trusted sword. What has to be done…Nora reminded herself, not completing the notion she had barraged herself with throughout the night.

She strode down the hill from her makeshift encampment with ease. For what small amount of rest the night had deigned her worthy, her body’s movements remained true. If she was to be a knight, it would have to take more than unpleasant slumber to slow her practiced muscles. Today she would prove herself.

It would not be pleasant.

Increasing her pace, she saw the outline of his hiding place. A ramshackle farmhouse, far and away from the constant use it once knew.

Beron knew how to fight. He did not know how to hide. This would be his downfall.

Around the house lay telling signs of temporary stay; freshly gathered pile of wood, sifted-through tools and bags. Not much useful, most likely. No food at least. Perhaps a tool he could use eventually, were he to rest here longer than a week. Shame he couldn’t have simply run off back when there were inhabitants to rob.  Nora spit.

How to proceed? Would he be sleeping in? Or would he know that it would be her coming after him? Others may have given him ample time to rest and run. They would not be so red in the stomach over what he had done; merely a student gone criminal, to be caught as time permitted. He might believe it too personal a job for her to undertake.

Nora found herself unable to care about what he might think.

As the sun continued to climb the horizon, the shade of her blade’s edge changed accordingly.

Orange, to crimson.