The clouds hung low in the air and the smell of a storm was on the wind. A child huddled in the corner knew that today was a day that would never come again. My father was coming from far away and I would finally leave this wretched hole.

I had never known another home. But I knew that anywhere could be better than here. Unwanted and alone I felt a familiar ache in my sternum. Well deeper than the sternum. But today was my seventh birthday. The day that adventure finds the children of the sword. All of us physically gifted but suffer from unhealable wounds. But today…. I could change that all today. The twelfth tick. That’s all I needed then my father would save me from a never ending nightmare.

As I push the dirt around on the unclean floor of the shack that I’ve always been in, my mother has yet again disappeared. I wonder if she will ever look at me and care. All she has ever cared about is her own self so I’m doubting if I should even be here.

The air, growing thin, starts taking on the stale taste of times yet to come. Why didn’t I choose the pen? Everyone knows we have to make a choice on our fifth birthday. The elders say it’s a choice we made long before we were even born, but that the choice remerges at the age of five.

I still remember the ceremony. All of us were clustered into a room as large as its own city. They called it the fountain of times before. The room had no fountain. It still makes me wonder why. Maybe that was the hole we all sat in until we made our choice. Maybe all of us were the water flowing producing more people into the world.

Outside of the hole they had a line of objects. Either a type of blade or a type of pen. The priest said each one has its own set of talents. To just let our bodies flow and our minds fly. There were seven of us choosing this year. Every child of five had no choice but to choose.

Most of the children around the town had both parents. Our town was called the town of scribes. We had very few children ever choose the blade. The town was known for producing authors, judges, lords, and even the king of scribes himself was from here.

We were always taught to read and write. We learned about minor politics and some of us were farther along learning laws. Then there was me. I could barely read by then. And they wanted me to choose. But I was lost. How can I be expected to choose if I could barely do what they wanted me too. If I always struggled to keep up how could I choose correctly now.

The first kid was called to the edge. Elena was her name. She lived with her dad and was the only one not to mock me. She knew my struggles but her dad tried his best to help her with her learning. She knew my pain, she had lost her mother two years prior. As she walked to the edge she moved to a different part than she was called to. Before she could move she grabbed an elegant quill.

“The quill of the golden goose” called the priest.

It was a small but ridged quill that shone so bright in the light it was easy to believe it was gold. A quill known to guide the chooser to prosperity. Most that had chosen a quill from the goose were often loved and cherished for words of kindness and acts of helping all they could. A golden quill to match a golden heart.

Next to be called was Shino. He wound up choosing a simple pen. Known to be for commoners who worked hard and often just blended in.

The next three kids I can’t remember now. I remember zoning out and just staring. Then I felt a jab on my back from a shoe. A shoe from the “best kid in town”. Joseph, the pest out to get me since we were both old enough to crawl. From lesson one I was always the target and nobody cared. It was always, look at Joseph. Look how he did this and did that. He was praised.

As he was walking up to the edge he did something that surprised everyone. He grabbed the most jeweled sword there was. The warriors sword. Known for its fame. As everyone gasped they said his life couldn’t be that miserable. He was not hurting enough to be a warrior. But they accepted the choice.

I was the last to be called. I hesitated. What if I choose wrong. Nobody would care anyways. I was invisible. I doubt anyone but Elena even knew about me. Hell my own mother didn’t even notice me.

As I walked to the edge I saw a rusted metal pen. I don’t know why to even this day but it called to me. Promised to save me. How did I know that the pen said that. I was lost. A pen doesn’t have emotions so why did it feel so strong. I grabbed the pen and climbed out with everyone else.

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The priest gave the closing ceremony and as was customary talked to each of us about our future. But here something sounded off. He called us in the order that we chose. Elena first. As the time ticked by the crowd dispersed to the festival in the town for we were safe with the priest. He was after all the one who obtained the pen of protection and prosperity. The only job for that pen was priest. Everyone who got one was trained from the day they chose it.

Finally the priest called me.

“Zen!!!! Get over here now! Next time I catch you in the clouds will be the last.” Called the priest.

I slowly walked over confused. What did he mean in the clouds? I’ve been waiting forever for him to call me. I slowly trudged over to him. I felt like he was going to say that I was the next outcast. One of the ones to be in the very edge so I couldn’t enter the town. As of then we only had five outcast. My mother included. The children there always went to class. But the parents could never enter. Once you hit twelve if you were a designated outcast you couldn’t be seen in town. Not unless you were married in. Then you were given the towns rights.

“Zen…..”

“Sir?” I answered feebly.

“We were not ready for your day of choice.” He said. His face looked worried and weathered. “ Only two of you will go farther than the others out of your chosen group. Joseph is going to Harbinger to become a squire. And you Zen will leave completely at the age of seven.”

“But sir? Why?” Now I was truly scared. The tears brimmed in my eyes. What if I never saw Elena again. What if it wound up being just me for the rest of my life.

“Zen you are young. But that pen you chose is more than a pen. Uncap it Zen”

As I uncapped the pen I saw the point. It was fine with an elegant eagle inscribed by the tip. A calligraphy tip. Only one other pen had been like that on the edge.

“Do you see the truth behind the pen Zen? It has more to it. It takes an ink jar to use. Try unscrewing it now.”

“Unscrewing it sir? But how?”

“That is more than a pen. And it has been a long time since someone couldn’t decide between the pen and sword.”

I noticed the seam around the middle of the rusty pen. Come to think of it was long for a pen. The weight didn’t match either. It was as long as my forearm. I started twisting with all I had until the back of the pen twisted completely off. In my hand I now held a knife that was short but sharp. Even though the pen was rusty the blade had a shine that hurt my eyes. Along the blade there was carved a snake. It was to me the most beautiful knife I had seen.

“Zen your situation is more special than the hidden pen. Or otherwise known as the forgotten blade. You see your father before he left gave me this letter. He explained that if he had not collected you by the twelfth tick of your seventh year then you were to start your journey alone.”

I gasped. “I get to meet my father?”

“It’s not set in stone Zen. It means that no matter what you will be leaving when you’re seven. You have chosen the pen with the most heartache. Your decisions can change the world. Even if nobody knows that it’s you behind it all.” The priest shivered. “Magic comes from pain. But so does good and evil. A line so fine that sometimes the two mix. It will be a long road Zen.”

“Sir?” I honestly had lost all of what he meant. All I knew is I would get to meet my father in two years.

“Zen we have to do one important thing. You are still young and don’t understand the rambling of a man like me. One day I hope we can talk again but for now we need to name your pen. The bond it gives you will start your true journey.”

“How do I name a pen and knife at the same time sir?”

“Let it speak to you. Everything has a name. We just have to listen closely enough and the answer will always come to us.”

As I sat in silence I didn’t hear anything. The priest just watched me. He started humming a tune I didn’t know. It sounded almost like the grains blowing in a hard wind. As I sat there listening I started to dose off again.

Z e e n n n

“Sir?”

“What is it Zen?” He asked sternly.

“Did you say my name?”

“No boy. Listen. That is the power of the beyond trying to give you the name. Just be quiet and listen.”

Z e e n n n

It almost sounded like the wind. But no wind was blowing.

Y o u. a r e. n o t. y e t. r e a d y. f o r. t h i s. Y o u. w i l l. l e a r n. t h e. n a m e. w h e n. t h e. m o o n. b l e e d s.

“Sir what does it mean for the moon to bleed?”

“Careful Zen. Blood can be water. Life can be death. Shadows can be alive. The moon can become the sun. Sometimes reality is just a daydream. Hope you never see a moon so dreadful.” The priest almost looked scared with a trace of dark that flashed through his eyes so suddenly that you would have thought the joy in him was gone.

That was two years ago now. I’m sitting here thinking about this when I should be thinking about how I finally get to meet my father for the first time.

DING

The chimes start yet again.

DING

Ten more until I finally meet him.

DING

DING

A new day. The rain can’t even stop me now.

DING

Is that smoke that I’m starting to smell??

DING

That’s a bright glow for this early…..

DING

Thump

DING

“ZEN!”

DING

The priest why??

DING

I open the door and walk out with all I have…… A hidden knife.

DING

DING

“I will walk with you out of town. Zen this will be a long trip but I will make sure you get where you are going.”