Blades Of Angels

It had rained for several days in the valley of Osag. In its midst, in the town of Jaich, the farmers kept busy in their homes while it poured. A road entered the valley and passed through the tiny town where an inn, a foundry, and other shops banked its sides.

As the evening approached and its failing light added to the already gloomy day, Anandun exited a shop of necessities and trudged through the muddy street carrying a heavy bag close to his chest. He was a tall young man with dark hair. His face had strong features with an angular jaw and piercing brown eyes.

When he reached the end of the main road just before it disappeared toward the wooded west, Anandun jogged to his home. The dwelling consisted of rock walls and stood one storey tall. It was one of the few large houses in the whole town and for good reason: Anandun’s father, Mupar, was the chief elder.

Anandun entered the house, and his family turned upon his arrival. In the middle of the living room, his father, sister, Cuny, and his brother, Brac, sat at the wooden kitchen table.

His mother, Layla, stood near the large fireplace with her left hand resting on her pregnant belly and the other stirring the contents of a boiling cauldron. She was a round-faced woman, and she kept her long brown hair tied in a bundle atop her head. Her pleasant smile always brightened a room or a gloomy day. Mupar was as tall as Anandun and well built, his brawn earned from hard farming showed through his clothes.

Cuny was a pretty girl and quite calm like their mother. Brac, the youngest of the family, was husky for his age, and everyone knew he would grow up to be a strong man. He played impatiently with his wooden spoon, tapping it against his empty bowl.

“Lemile could only give me a yield, Mother,” Anandun said as he removed his wet cloak.

“It will do,” she said and returned to the pot.

Anandun gave his mother the flour and sat at the table.

“We will have to cut more wood, Son. It rained longer than expected,” Mupar told him.

“Yes, Father. I will do it tomorrow. Garmon needs my help tonight. I will go after supper,” Anandun answered.

“Very well,” his father answered as Layla brought the steaming pot of soup to the table.

As usual, Layla served Brac first and then sat down for the meal.

“Let us pray,” Mupar said. Everyone bowed their heads and closed their eyes. “God of all creation, we bow humbly before You and thank You for all You have done and for Your provision. Help us to always seek Your face in all we do and give us the strength to do Your will in peace and joy.”

After supper, Anandun was dismissed, and he quickly put on his cloak and flipped the hood over his head. As he left the comfort of his home, the sweeping rain confronted him.

He sloshed toward the centre of town, thinking about the heavy rain that fell almost unceasingly over the last few days. Suddenly, the cry of a horse and the splatter of water against his legs startled him. He turned and came face-to-face with a horse. Anandun looked up at the rider. The horseman was hooded, and he could barely see the grim, unfamiliar face looking back at him.

Anandun wondered who could be riding so late at night. A glint at the stranger’s waist attracted his attention. Slightly protruding from the man’s cloak, Anandun distinguished the hilt of a sword. A sword! Stunned, he backed away. He looked again at the rider, his heart pounding with fear.

“Is there an inn in this village?” the rider asked.

Anandun could only nod and point in the direction of the inn.

With a nod of gratitude, the horseman urged his horse forward and left Anandun behind, dripping with water and his mouth agape. He watched the horseman arrive at the inn and tie his horse to the post. Two strides later, the stranger had gone inside.

A sword! Anandun thought with unbelief. A swordsman in Jaich! Such a thing had never happened before. Swordsmen were only spoken of by visitors from other towns or far-off lands. So, to have one in Jaich was quite an event.

Anandun then remembered his friends. He must tell them immediately. But would they believe me.

Bursting into a run, Anandun scrambled to the storehouse. The door creaked to a close behind him, and Garmon and his father halted their work at his abrupt entrance. Barrels of wheat and other grains lined the floor as shelves filled with goods covered the walls.

“Hello,” Garmon said.

Garmon was slightly heavy-set like his father. He had a boyish round face, dark eyes, and light brown tousled hair. His father, Ert, was a large man, if not the largest in the town.

“Is something wrong, Anandun?” Ert asked upon seeing his wide-eyed expression.

“I-I saw a horseman. And he carried a sword!”

Garmon appeared stunned, but his father looked troubled. They halted their work and gathered at the center of the storehouse.

“Are you certain?” Ert asked. His bushy eyebrows nearly met as he squinted concern.

“As you live,” Anandun answered.

“By the Holy One! I would like to know what he wants here,” Garmon wondered aloud.

“I would—” Anandun was about to agree when Ert cut in.

“His doings are not our concern. He seeks rest after a long journey, I’ll wager. By morning, he will be gone and that will be fine with us.”

Both young men felt dismayed at the thought as they hoped to know more about the stranger or, even better, to speak with him.

“But, Father, maybe he can tell us what goes on in the region,” Garmon argued.

“Yes!” Anandun added eagerly.

“Syman will learn if he has anything worth sharing and then he will tell us,” Ert stated. “The stranger is a man of the sword and not one who seeks peace, you understand?”

Both young men nodded, remembering their town’s strong vow to strive for peace with all men.

“Very well. Enough of this fruitless chatter. Off to work,” Ert ordered before returning to his work.

Garmon and Anandun looked at each other with disappointment and then glumly began their own work, lifting the heavy bags of grain onto shelves.

“I hope we hear something tomorrow,” Garmon whispered to Anandun, making sure his father would not hear.

“As do I,” Anandun answered, though he secretly wished he could talk with the swordsman.

“I am sure Jol will speak with him,” Garmon said confidently.

“You think so? I doubt it, Gar. His father will not allow it.”

After brief consideration, Garmon agreed.

“Do you really think we will hear something from the elders?” Anandun asked.

Garmon shook his head from side to side.

Sadly, and in silence, they continued their work.

*

Early the next day, Anandun noticed that the stranger’s presence had disturbed the small town. Not only were the elders meeting at Syman’s inn to discuss the matter, others could be seen chattering quietly.

Hiding his eagerness, Anandun skipped over puddles as he strolled toward the inn. It was a cloudy day, but it seemed better weather was not far away.

“God’s morning, Anandun,” a girl called to him, interrupting his thoughts.

Anandun turned to see Tira walking over to join him. Tira had light brown hair, and her tanned face bore her usual pleasant smile. She was a strong young woman with a supple frame and a little shorter than him.

“God’s morning, Tira,” he responded.

“You heard of the swordsman?” she asked.

“Yes. I met him last night,” he answered proudly.

“You met him?” Her eyes widened with surprise and her smile manifested her adoration.

“Well, I did not truly speak with him, but he asked where he might stay the night, and I showed him Syman’s inn,” he clarified, unwilling to create false rumours.

“Did you see the sword?”

“Very little. It was dark.”

“Well, you are fortunate. Other than you, only Syman and his family saw him. He left very early in the morning,” she informed him.

“I am going now to find out if anyone has learned more of him,” he told her.

“Good. Come and tell me afterward,” she said with a smile.

“Ah, of course,” Anandun answered shyly.

“Goodbye, Anandun.” She brushed his arm with her hand and then walked away.

Anandun turned quickly to his errand and did not notice Tira looking back at him with great interest.

Some of the town men were talking at the door of the inn when Anandun passed by. One or two waved hellos, and his ears were fully attentive to their conversation. Arriving at the great doors of the inn’s barn, he opened them and slipped into the stables.

The barn had six stables, three on both sides. All of them were empty except for one that housed a hag belonging to Jol’s family.

“Anandun! You took your good time,” said a frustrated Jol as he and Garmon walked over.

Jol was a tall and lean young man. He had simple features and light brown hair. Both of Anandun’s friends were wide-eyed, which told Anandun they had heard something of great interest.

“I met—” he started but was immediately cut off.

“The swordsman was a messenger!” Jol blurted out.

“A messenger?”

“A messenger of doom!” Jol said, adding an ominous tone to his words.

“But what did he say?” Anandun inquired.

“He said we were in danger. But I could not hear for what reason,” Jol said.

“What did your father say?” Anandun asked him.

“He scoffed at him,” Jol answered with some disappointment.

“He scoffed?”

“And it made the swordsman mad!” Garmon quickly added.

“Mad at first, but I think he became rather sad,” Jol corrected.

“And what happened next?” Anandun asked.

“That is all. He ate his meal and Father gave him a room. Nothing more. He was gone early this morning without a word.”

The three friends looked at each other in disappointment. They had hoped to learn more of the swordsman’s message and the reason he had come to their town. Anandun and his friends desired to know what lay outside their region. News from beyond their homes only came when strangers passed through their remote town, which rarely occurred.

“I wished I could have spoken with him, but my father forbade it,” Jol stated sadly.

“Well, it seems Anandun and I will have to ask our fathers,” Garmon concluded.

“They will not tell us all. We are not of age,” Jol reminded him.

“What does it matter what the stranger said? It will change nothing for us,” Anandun said, feeling hopeless.

“I will try my best to find out,” Jol promised his friends. “I must return.”

“I will try as well,” Garmon said.

“We will meet tonight?” Anandun proposed. His friends nodded.

Later in the morning, Anandun and his father were outside in the fields tying grape stems to wooden spikes.

Mupar looked thoughtful while they worked. Anandun was certain that the swordsman had brought serious news. He tied the last vine and then walked over to his father.

“I have finished, Father.”

“Good.” Mupar stood up and looked over the vineyard. “It will do.”

Mupar gave his son a searching look, as though deciding on whether it was time to quench his son’s curiosity.

“Anandun, I would like to speak with you about the stranger.”

Anandun was stunned and tried to hide his surprise.

“He came to warn us of the sons of Cain. They grow in number in the north, and, like their father, they are murderers and robbers. We are men of peace and do not believe we should go to war against them. We believe God will watch over us,” he explained.

“But what if they come?” Anandun asked.

“We will defend ourselves. Fear not, for we will not yield so easily,” Mupar affirmed.

Anandun was comforted to hear that the elders had considered the matter and devised a plan should the worst occur.

“The times grow worse, but by the grace of our Creator, we will be ready for them,” Mupar said with a comforting smile. “Now, I must return home for more strings. Gather the wood while I am gone.”

“Yes, Father.”

Mupar patted his son on the back, and Anandun headed into the woods. Piece by piece, he collected and piled wood while pondering what his father had said.

Anandun heard a noise and turned about, expecting to see his father. Instead, he was confronted with a shining blade pointed at his chest.

It was the swordsman from the night before. Anandun jumped away from him and fell over the pile of wood. The stranger advanced on him.

The horseman’s face was chiselled with tight dark skin. His eyes were black and piercing. Most of his hair was black but showed some grey. His leather clothes fit him tightly, revealing a muscular frame.

Anandun crawled away from the blade and got to his feet. The swordsman slashed at him, but Anandun dodged out of the way.

“Why do you want to kill me?” Anandun cried out, but only received a cold stare.

The swordsman slashed with his blade again, and Anandun backed away until he was pressed against the stack of wood. He considered running until his hand fell upon his father’s staff. Snatching it up, he extended it before him to defend himself.

The swordsman swatted the staff aside in one swift move and pointed the blade at his chest.

“Can this stick save you from a blade?” the swordsman asked.

Anandun stood there, not knowing if he should answer or run.

“Answer me!”

“No!” Anandun shot back, not knowing what forced him to answer.

The stranger stared and considered him for a moment before in a quick, elegant move, the swordsman sheathed his sword.

“Put down your weapon,” the swordsman told him in a mocking tone. “I did not come to harm you.” He walked over to a tree stump and sat down, flapping his dark outer cloak behind him.

His heart still pounding, Anandun feared to move and prayed for his father’s presence.

As if reading his mind, the swordsman asked, “Do you believe your father and the men of this town could defend themselves with sticks against swords?”

The question, coupled with the menacing actions, struck home. Anandun knew his father and the men of the town could never defeat warriors bearing swords. The realisation drained him of assurance.

“I see you are not a fool. You understand,” the swordsman said. “Only steel and experience will save you in battle.”

Anandun lowered his father’s staff and let it fall to the ground. He sat on the woodpile, not knowing what to say.

“Trying to convince your elders would be futile. They will not listen. You must act on your own if you wish to save your family,” the stranger told him.

“No one has ever come here to harm us,” Anandun said in defence.

“You heard the rumours, I am sure. Your town is not far enough from the hand of evil. How long before you are pillaged and your women disgraced?”

Anandun thought of his mother, sister, and Tira, whom he loved.

“Who of you will protect them,” the horseman told him bluntly.

“God will protect us!” Anandun fought back with his faith.

“Did God protect Abel?”

Everyone knew the story of Cain and Abel and what happened in Eden. Cain killed his brother because of hate and jealousy, and God did not stop it.

Was there a lesson to be learned that his father and elders failed to understand? Although Anandun did not understand God’s purpose, he was sure of one thing. He could not allow his family to be hurt by evil men.

“What must I do?”

“Learn to fight,” the stranger answered.

“Fight!” Anandun repeated the word as if he had never heard it before. “And who will teach us?”

“I am willing.”

From childhood, the elders spoke against fighting and instead taught peaceful ways to settle disagreements. Violence was rare in all the settlements.

“We cannot do this,” Anandun with uncertainty.

“Then your town is doomed. The children of Cain are gaining strength. They ravage and enslave the weak, and they seek to enslave the world and kill all those who believe in the Creator. Every year, they gain ground, and they are coming your way. I can assure you,” the stranger told him as he got to his feet, “I came to you with the hope of finding good sense and courage, but I was wrong. I pray to God that I am wrong and that you see only peace in your days. Farewell.” The swordsman turned to walk away.

“Wait!” Anandun shouted.

The swordsman stopped.