-At the Hilt-

Cal was a quiet companion, but compared to complete isolation, the change was stark. His personality seemed as fluid and playful as the wild waves. When Jordan chose silence, he chose well-timed remarks. He seemed to constantly smile at nothing and asked her countless questions regarding her academy training.

She would respond, curt phrases that provided an answer and little detail.

But three days into their voyage, her mask began to crack. Cal had been charting their course as he usually did in the morning before bombarding her with questions. As he fiddled with the map and compass in front of him, he asked, “Have you ever taught someone else the art of the sword?”

Her head jerked up at the question, eyes large and strangely vulnerable.

“No.”

“But you’re a master, I saw you spar multiple times at the academy. I think everyone had their eyes on you.”

Jordan blushed. “I went through the academy on an accelerated track, so they really didn’t have time to let me instruct. My teacher was determined to make me the best… he wasn’t really interested in spreading the wealth.”

Cal nodded in understanding, those stubborn blond curls of his dancing in his eyes again.

“I’d heard as much. I know our paths at the academy didn’t cross much, but swordsmanship was never my strong point.”

“But your Orenda prowess was unparalleled,” she retorted.

He shrugged, then looked down shyly for a moment as though wanting to ask something but searching for the nerve. It was uncharacteristic of the Cal she’d come to know.

“Do you want to learn?”

This time his head popped up, his gaze meeting hers eagerly. “I’d love to.”

***

Sweat made the blade slick in his hands, and Callan fought back the urge to push unruly hair away from his eyes.

She was good. Unmatched. Callan had never met her equal. The man who had trained her had brute force, but his impatience played in his opponent’s favor. Jordan seemed unswayed by something as common as frustration or eagerness. She was like one of the ancient trees in the tangled undergrowth of supposed Jadelin territory, as patient as the earth and as powerful as the sudden explosion of an earthquake.

Where her trainer was strength and fierce strikes, she was light on her feet, never in one place for more than a moment at a time. Callan had practiced with his daggers in his spare time, but he knew if it came down to a fair fight between the two of them he would fall faster than the undulating waves gently rocking the ship.

“Give me… a chance… to catch my breath,” he huffed, backing up just before Jordan slashed forward, their swords clashing. Jordan’s legendary sword remained sheathed at her waist. She was using a wooden practice sword like he was, weapons he’d dug out of The Heightened’s storage.

He’d asked to see the blade of the sword, intensely curious to see the jewels he’d heard were encrusted, not only in the hilt, but also in the actual blade. The history behind the blade was as mysterious as how Jordan had come to be in possession of it. Callan had heard the same rumors as everyone else at the academy—it was forged in the belly of Ealias, it had been pulled from the mount of a great mountain that had since been devoured by the sea, it was a gift from the first Forlorn. Apparently it could cut through almost anything with ease, the blade was so perfectly formed.

But she’d refused to unsheathe the weapon. Jordan had made it clear she wouldn’t take out the sword under any circumstance, and Callan hadn’t pushed the topic.

Moving forward with grace and strength, Jordan’s blade met his and forced his sword to waver, knocking him off-balance. In a moment she was stabbing her sword up toward his neck.

“Your balance is crucial, Cal. If you can’t stay firmly planted, your opponent can do almost anything with their blade. Position your feet a little wider apart and bend your knees slightly.”

He struggled to comply, the wooden sword beginning to weigh down his arms. His forearms ached, but he refused to take a break. If she could practice for such a long stretch of time, so could he.

Holding back a rare smile, she rushed forward and pushed back on his left shoulder. Caught off guard, he stumbled, the tip of his sword almost hitting the ship’s deck.

“For a ship’s captain, you don’t seem to have your sea legs yet,” she laughed, brushing her long hair back.

“In my defense, I’ve never engaged in swordplay on the water.”

“But someday you might need to. What if sea monsters attack?” She didn’t even try to keep a straight expression on her face.

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“You laugh,” he huffed, “but there are massive creatures living in the Glacian Sea.”

“I heard sulfins haven’t been seen in years.”

“Maybe not, but if a sulfin comes at you I’d like to see you keep your balance.”

“Easily,” she said, arms crossed over her chest. Straightening and returning to a ready stance, sword held in front of her, she asked, “When will we arrive at this floating rock of yours?”

“Tonight,” he said confidently, taking a moment to reposition his hair.

Like thunder pounding after lightning, Jordan used his momentary lapse to “kill” him again.

“I don’t think I’ll live through the day,” he said morosely.

***

Jordan hadn’t enjoyed practicing with the blade this much in months. Striking out at nothing wasn’t nearly as satisfying as reading every motion and expression of her opponent and responding, like leaves dancing to the rhythm of the wind.

In her excitement, she’d pushed their practice session long. Three hours had passed, and Cal looked ready to drop.

Tucking the practice blade at her side, she made eye contact with him and bowed her head in respect. He mimicked her movements. He really hadn’t put any time into weaponry, at least not the sword. Given his broad shoulders and tall frame, he might be better suited for a battle ax, but the only weapons he seemed to carry on his person were the two daggers, which would be invisible to an untrained eye.

But then, if he really is as dangerous with Orenda as I’ve heard, a sword would be little more than a joke, she thought begrudgingly.

“You’re obviously as good as they said you were,” he coughed out as he straightened. The sea breeze had kept Jordan and Cal cooled off, although he was clearly still worn out.

“I didn’t mean to train you so hard,” she said, blushing.

“I figured ten hour sessions were what beginners started with,” he joked, his sense of humor unaffected by the grueling practice.

“Only three!”

“Right, forgive me.” There was that smile again. Despite herself, she smiled back, a shy, fragile thing, like a flower trying to push through the layers of dirt and rubble to something like the light.

“I should make you cook tonight,” he said over his shoulder as he stowed their practice swords and went down to the galley to begin dinner. “I can barely feel my fingers.”

“If you’re eager for bread with a hunk of cheese, I’m your girl,” she called down.

She could cook, but Cal’s talented meals made her self-conscious of her humble, simple fare. If he enjoyed preparing their meals, she wouldn’t stop him.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind that.” His voice was a little harder to hear now that he was belowdecks. She could have joined him, and had thought about it multiple times, but she preferred the open skies and sea—they reminded her of the Landing, her humble nook in the mighty tree that stretched into the cosmos.

Out here, with nothing but skipping waves and the shine and sheen of the sea, she felt like just another star in the night sky. She’d pushed their practice long enough that the sun was little more than a sizzling memory in the water, red and the deepest shade of purple. The darkness turned the sea into another sky, with The Heightened skimming between the two worlds like a white blade, piercing two realities with its sleek hull.

“The usual?” Cal called up, and Jordan responded quickly—“Yes, thank you.” She’d learned in the last few days that, although he was creative in his culinary pursuits, Cal only had so many ingredients, and they could only be combined into so many meals. But regardless, Jordan had enjoyed the dried white meat he’d combined with fresh redarrow berries and chunks of a cheese so light-colored it almost seemed transparent.

“So, how long do you think it will take before I can stand up to you for more than two seconds?” he asked.

“The rest of your life,” she said without thinking, her eyes caught on the melting rays of the sun. Suddenly realizing what she said, she quickly added, “I didn’t mean—”

He chuckled, a low sound that drifted up like the smell of the sizzling meat he was cooking. “No, you’re probably right. Although I think I could learn to last at least two minutes, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” Her reply was sincere. He was determined, even though the sword clearly wasn’t natural to him.

“Were you always this talented? I mean, did it always come this naturally to you?”

Maybe it was because he couldn’t read her face as she responded, but she felt more comfortable sharing her feelings with Cal now while he was down in the galley.

“Not really,” she admitted. “In fact, I struggled with swordplay as much as I did with Orenda, originally. But I was drawn to the beauty of the weapon more than the violence often associated with the sword. I wanted to learn the complex relationship, the dance others had with their blade. I wanted to fly like them…”

“You fly now,” he said.

Jordan felt color rising to her cheeks and pushed the emotion down, even though Cal wasn’t around to tease her about it.

“I learned enough to get by.”

“Hardly! I’ve seen…”

Cal kept speaking, but the rest of his thought was lost on her as she noticed a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. Something in the black expanse rose and fell in the waters that surrounded them.

Curious but too well trained to rush over to the side of the ship and investigate, she removed her sword from her belt, although it remained sheathed as always. Keeping her feet planted to the deck like she’d been instructing Cal all afternoon, she approached the gleaming side of the boat, a bright white that shone like bone in the darkness.

Cal’s chatter melded in with the swaying of the waves, all of it fading to nothing as she narrowed in on the deep. Instead of looking directly at the water and hoping to catch a glimpse of movement, she looked at the thin line where the sky and the sea met. She’d be much quicker to catch the disturbance by observing more generally.

There.

Her eyes caught the movement, although whatever it was moved so fast that Jordan saw nothing more than a white streak, serrated like a butcher’s knife.

Racking her mind, she remembered her conversation with Cal from earlier.

Sulfin.