Seraphine Virethorn, Part One: The Vaulted Blade

A new short story series on Drafted Spaces. New installments on the first Wednesday of the month.

“Seraphine! What in all of Aetherfall are you doing?”

Seraphine swore silently and closed her eyes. So close! Turning, she widened her pale violet eyes and, smiling her most charming smile, projected the air of the innocent and naïve debutante she was expected to be. “Why, mother! Let the light bind and keep you! I hadn’t expected your return until tomorrow. How did you fare in Saltreach? Did Lord Fishface agree to acknowledge our shared right to the shipping lanes?”

Lady Elenara fixed an icy stare on her daughter. “Don’t try and change the subject. You know you aren’t allowed inside the training room. A lady of House Virethorn…”

“…rules with her mind, not the sword,” Seraphine finished. “I was only going to ask Thalirion if he would accompany me for a walk in the forest this evening. We have precious little time before our nameday, and then we will both be too busy to have such time together.”

Lady Elenara studied her a moment, then sighed and smiled wistfully. “You have certainly mastered the language of ladyship. Even I am unable to tell if you are sincere or contriving.” Then she straightened and her tone became harder. “This is good. If you are to wed the Tidevane heir, you will need it.”

Seraphine went cold. Marry the heir of Tidevane?  Suddenly, she became aware that her mother was looking at her expectantly. She forced herself to breathe and said, “Forgive me, mother, you took me quite by surprise. What did you say?”

Lady Elenara frowned in disapproval. “You still haven’t managed to master your mind I see. I said, Lord Tidevane has agreed that you and his heir, the Scion Kelryn will marry. This match will seal the alliance between our lands and put to rest any question about the shipping lanes.” Her eyes softened a little as she said, “Kelryn is a fine match and will make a good husband. I believe you will both grow to love each other fully. Your father is pleased with the match, as am I.”

Seraphine straightened her spine and said, “Of course, mother. I understand. Thanks be to the Lightbound for showing us the way.”

Her mother smiled and lightly brushed a hand through her daughter’s silver-blonde hair. “Thanks be to the Lightbound.”

That evening, Seraphine and her twin brother Thalirion walked arm in arm through the dense forest that surrounded House Virethorn on three sides.

“I’ve met Kelryn,” Thalirion said bracingly, “He’s not nearly as fishy looking as his father.”

Seraphine snorted and gave him a shove. “You can laugh. I’ve met the fair Gundra Ashcrag, and you know father has always loved the ringing of the hammer over the plucking of harp.”

Thalirion winced and laughed sheepishly, “Fair enough.” Glancing around he said, “The shadows are becoming deeper, we should turn back before darkness falls in earnest.”

The twins continued in silence until they reached the tree line. The moon had risen and its silver light shone across the moor surrounding their home. House Virethorn rose like a citadel, the torchlights of the watchmen dancing around like fireflies in the night. Seraphine sighed and said, “I will miss Duskmere. The sea air of Saltreach is all well and good, but nothing can replace the smell of home.”

Thalirion gave her hand a quick squeeze and said, “Come. I have an early nameday gift for you.”

------

There was a legend that beneath House Virethorn sat a vault older than the house's charter. Nobody spoke of what it held. Every Virethorn child learned the rhyme, passed down from generation to generation. Nobody could say who had written it, or when, but it was said that the one who solved the riddle and found the vault would wield a terrible, ancient power and remake the world.

Where the silver thorn meets shadow,

And the ninety steps run true,

Count not with your eyes, but your breath,

For the stone remembers you.

Three doors guard what sleeps below,

Locked not by key, but by cost.

The first opens to those who are lost.

The second, to those who have lost.

The third does not open at all,

Save to the one the blade has chosen.

The twins had become obsessed with solving the riddle, and when they were eight years old, they discovered the secret of the first door.

They were playing in the gardens at twilight, when Seraphine noticed a small patch of Moonthorn shining in the evening light. She called to Thalirion and together they approached the patch. As they grew closer, the shadow of the garden wall fell over the Moonthorn, causing the thorns to dim.

“Where the silver thorn meets shadow,” Seraphine breathed, looking at Thalirion with wide eyes. “Quick! Let’s look for steps!”

Eagerly she dropped to her knees and began running her hands over the ground, feeling for stone or anything resembling a depression. Thalirion, however, was looking at the garden wall.

“Sera,” he said slowly. “look at the wall.”

Seraphine stared at him. “What?”

“Look at the wall,” he repeated. “Don’t the stones kind of look like steps?”

She stood and regarded the wall. It was an old stone wall made from rocks that had been dug out of the moor centuries ago.

Seraphine studied the wall critically. “I suppose,” she said, “but…” She stopped suddenly. The moon had risen and a single beam fell on the wall. Suddenly, a shimmering line appeared running through the cracks in the wall and tracing a perfect staircase from the top of the garden wall down toward the house, cutting off at the same shadow. Just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.

“It’s gone! How can we count them if we can’t see them?” Seraphine exclaimed, frustrated. “Thal, were you able to count them? How many were there?”

“We can’t count them with our eyes Sera,” Thalirion replied. “We have to count them with our breath.” He stood, still looking at the wall. “But I don’t know how you can count with your breath.”

Seraphine thought, then her eyes lit up. “What does Teacher always say? When you can’t think of the answer, close your eyes and count your breaths! That’s it! It must be!”

She grabbed his hand and stood with him, facing the shadow on the wall. “Look, this is the spot where the silver thorn meets shadow and the glowing ‘steps’. If we close our eyes and count ninety breaths, maybe something will happen.”

The twins stood still, slowly breathing together, eyes shut, and counted. As soon as they exhaled on the ninetieth breath, a scraping sounded and a wide hole opened in the ground before them.

“The first door!” Thalirion said excitedly.

“Are you sure?” Seraphine said, hesitantly. “I mean, we aren’t lost. We’re here in the garden.”

“It must not mean actually lost, like we don’t know where we are,” Thalirion replied. “It must mean lost, like we don’t understand! Come on!”

The door had led to an underground cavern. It became their secret hideaway, and they spent many hours there playing, then training. Seraphine hated that she could not participate in training sessions with Thalirion, and so he shared his lessons, secretly, with her in that place. There they practiced swordplay and sorcery, away from prying eyes, and by the time they had reached sixteen, Seraphine was evenly matched with Thalirion in both combat and the arcane.

———

It was here where Thalirion now led Seraphine. She looked at him questioningly as he stopped and turned to regard her.

“I think I have figured out the secret to the second door,” he said, “and I want to open it with you.”

Seraphine gasped. “But Thal, legend says it will only open to those who have lost,” she protested. “It’s too dangerous! What if it means that someone must die? No secret, no power, is worth the risk if the risk is taking a life!”

“I don’t think it means a literal loss, just like it didn’t mean we had to be literally lost when we found the first door,” Thalirion argued. “I’ve been studying the histories. There are instances where children of nobility are said to have ‘lost’ when they reach the age of maturity. They lose their childhood innocence when they become adults. We will be adults tomorrow. And,” he grinned wickedly, “since I am two minutes older, I will be an adult first. So, the door will open for me, and you can come along!”

Seraphine laughed delightedly. “Well, if you’re right, it will be a great achievement. And if you’re wrong, we will have had the joy of one last childhood adventure. Lead the way dear brother. Where will this door appear?”

Thalirion laughed with her. “I suppose we shall soon see. The clock has struck eleven and so my nameday is here!”

He had no sooner spoken when a glowing light appeared on the far wall.

“A portal!” Seraphine gasped. “Thal, are you sure? This means ancient magic. We don’t know what will happen.”

“We will find the third door!” Thalirion exclaimed. “Or we will find another hidden cavern.”

“But it says the third door won’t open at all, what if we become trapped?”

Thalirion swallowed hard, then stood up straight and said bravely, “Then we will be trapped together.” He strode toward the portal.

Lightbound preserve us from the Hollow King Seraphine prayed and hurried after her brother.

As soon as Seraphine passed through, the portal stopped glowing and she was surrounded in darkness. Before she had time to scream, two torches burst into light, and she was able to see Thalirion. He grinned at her weakly and said, “Well, maybe you won’t have to marry Lord Fish after all.” She glared at him, grabbed a torch, and pushed past him. “Come on Kaelspawn. Let’s find a way out of here before we starve to death.”

“Such language from a lady!” Thalirion replied good naturedly, grabbing the other torch. “Whatever will Lord Fish think of you!”

They soon came to a narrow corridor cut from stone that seemed to swallow torchlight rather than reflect it. Thalirion went first and Seraphine came behind, one hand trailing the wall, counting steps out of habit. Ninety-one. Ninety-two. She had learned young that numbers steadied her when nothing else would.

The corridor opened into a small chamber with a plain door, made of iron and banded in silver, etched with a sigil neither of them recognized. Thalirion crossed the chamber and pressed his palm to the sigil. Immediately words appeared, shining in the same glittery silver as the steps so many years before.

What waits below was never bound to keep,

Only to wait, the way old wounds wait beneath a scar.

And when the Echoes wake and call each other home,

The one who answers will not be who they were,

Nor who they meant to become,

But who the waiting made them.

The twins stared at each other in wonder. As the words faded from sight, they turned to examine the chamber. It was smaller than the previous cavern, and mostly empty. A few chests, long since rotted, and a tapestry so faded its figures had become suggestions of themselves. In front of the tapestry, on a plinth of black stone, lay a longsword.

It should not have caught the light. There was no light to catch, only the low red glow of the torch Thalirion carried. But the blade shone anyway, a cold silver threaded through with something violet and alive, and the runes along its length seemed to shift when Seraphine wasn't looking directly at them.

"Whisperthorn," Thalirion read from the plinth's base, and reached for it before Seraphine could tell him not to.

The flash that followed had no heat. That was what she would remember most, in the years after. Not pain, not fire, but a light that felt like being seen by something old and tired of waiting.

Memories that were not hers poured through her. A citadel collapsing under its own weight. A dying archmage pressing his hands to steel he was too weak to hold. A warlord's promise, and the same warlord's betrayal, and the grief of a weapon that had been made to seal a friendship and had instead been made to end one.

When the light cleared, Thalirion was gone.

Not dead, not there. The blade lay in the dust where he had been standing. Shaking, she reached for it, unsure if she expected Thalirion to reappear, or to follow him to wherever it was he went. Neither happened.

She did not scream. She had no voice. She knelt instead, in the dark of a vault that was no longer legend, but here and now. With the clarity of grief, she knew that her life as she knew it was over.

In the silence, she heard a voice. Not with her ears, not in any way that could be explained, but she knew that voice was outside of her, and that it was the voice of the blade. Whisperthorn.

Interesting, it said, I would have expected the boy, but blood does not lie.

“Where is my brother?” Seraphine whispered. She cleared her throat. “What do you mean, blood does not lie? We are twins, we are of one blood. Return him!”

I did not take him, Whisperthorn replied, He is not gone, but he is not here. He is Elsewhere. Held. Whether that is mercy or cruelty, only time will tell. At the moment, it matters not. You are the chosen.

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? What do you mean, chosen? Chosen for what?” Despite her despair and grief, she felt herself gripping the sword, letting it settle against her palm like something that had grown there, an extension of herself. She stared at the silver and violet blade in her hand in equal parts fascination and horror.

You are the chosen, the blade repeated. I do not lie, even when the truth is unkind. You do not lie, though you choose what truths you tell.

“My brother is not a liar,” she bit out angrily. “He reached for you, not me. He is the heir of this land, not me. I have no use for swords. Choose him.”

He was eager, reaching for me the way men always reach, wanting the power represented by a blade. You did not reach at all. The hunger for power is hollow; it is the birth of lies untold. I was made from such as this and remade to serve it never again.

You reach for nothing.

“I reach for things. I reach for power, just as Thal does. There is nothing wrong with ambition,” Seraphine protested. “He and I are the same. Either bring him back or send me to him. You can stay here as you were. Choose someone else.”

Ambition is not power. You reach for knowledge, and skill, for the sake of knowledge and skill. Any power you may hold is secondary to your desire. I have spent a long age learning the difference.

You are the chosen.

“I don’t want to be your chosen, I want my brother,” Seraphine cried in despair.

Then find him.

Seraphine sat up straight, gripping the sword and staring the blade that was a blade and yet not a blade. “You said you don’t know where he is.”

I don’t. Neither do you. That’s what “find him” means. I suspect you are clever enough to discover where, in time, if you are willing to walk the path set for you.

You were not chosen because you are strong, though you may become so. You were not chosen because you are clever, though you seem to be. You were chosen because you did not want to be chosen, and one such as this is the only one with hands worth trusting with power like mine.

The blade said nothing more. Upstairs, the house slept on, unaware that the heir of House Virethorn and the alliance of Saltreach had disappeared as dust in the wind.

The blade had chosen. The third door opened.

Check back for Part Two: Two Years Gone