parents to have weapons like these? And why had they not revealed their true nature before? Magical weapons throughout Lumineia were not uncommon, but Taryn sensed that these weapons were far more powerful than normal. For one thing, he’d never heard of a transforming weapon.
Remembering the flash of white light and the writing that had appeared, he turned his father’s sword over in his hands and peered at the writing. Faint silver writing stood out from the shining metal. In flowing script he could make out the word “Mazer.”
What could that mean . . .? The thought trailed off as the idea came to mind that Mazer could be his father’s name. In that moment the sword glimmered blue as if in answer to his thought and magic tingled up his arm. The more he thought about it, the more confident he became. There was no way he could explain how he knew it. He could just . . . feel it—so strongly it brought tears to his eyes.
He finally knew his father’s name! Grasping his mother’s sword, he eagerly drew it and laid it across his knees as well. “Ianna” was inscribed in the same faint silver writing. Closing his eyes, he leaned back and reveled in this tiny bit of information he had yearned for his entire life.
Relief and joy spread through him, warming him more than the afternoon sun. For several minutes the strong emotions overcame him, burning into his heart and searing into his mind—and then almost imperceptibly began to fade. Second by second the elation dissipated, left to be replaced with the haggard sadness of one who has caught a glimpse of what they desire most, only to watch it slip away.
What now? The sobering thought whispered, sending a chill through his heart and chasing the last vestiges of relief away. His entire life he had wanted to return to the mainland of Lumineia to search out his heritage, learn where his family had come from, and why they had brought him to the island. The questions had burned within him from the moment he had understood that Murai was not really his uncle, and now that he knew his parents’ names, the prospect of returning felt all too real. For the first time he realized that knowing his parents names didn’t quench his desire to know more.
It fueled it.
Sighing at the elusive questions, he looked down at his parents’ swords, but the shimmering metal yielded no more answers. Deciding to momentarily set aside his concerns and see what the weapons were capable of, he rose to his feet and returned his father’s sword to its scabbard, focusing on his mothers’ weapon. Although his training had included little on magic, he knew enough to know that imbued weapons required something to activate. Perhaps he had to say words or incantations?
No, that wouldn’t be it. His parents had been warriors; of that he was certain. Warriors would want their weapons accessible, and the same should go for the magic contained within them.
Lifting his mother’s sword to eye level, he concentrated on the bow he had glimpsed before the battle in the arena. Before his eyes, the blade began to bend back on itself, while the hilt stretched downward and curved backward. At the same time, the metal faded and began to shape into burnished wood, its dark grain polished and smooth. As the arcing wood neared the end, a string of green light reached out from both ends and joined in the middle. A little taken aback at how easy it had been, Taryn hesitated and then examined it more closely.
The wood of the bow looked to be oak, which was odd, because most bows were made of yew or another kind of supple wood, oak being far too stiff. Intricate designs and runes were carved expertly along the entire length of the curved weapon. Upon closer inspection, he noticed what looked like faint veins of green light twined into the wood. At the end of the bow, the green light extended straight out of the wood to become the string. Reaching for the string, he half expected his hand to pass through it,
Remembering the flash of white light and the writing that had appeared, he turned his father’s sword over in his hands and peered at the writing. Faint silver writing stood out from the shining metal. In flowing script he could make out the word “Mazer.”
What could that mean . . .? The thought trailed off as the idea came to mind that Mazer could be his father’s name. In that moment the sword glimmered blue as if in answer to his thought and magic tingled up his arm. The more he thought about it, the more confident he became. There was no way he could explain how he knew it. He could just . . . feel it—so strongly it brought tears to his eyes.
He finally knew his father’s name! Grasping his mother’s sword, he eagerly drew it and laid it across his knees as well. “Ianna” was inscribed in the same faint silver writing. Closing his eyes, he leaned back and reveled in this tiny bit of information he had yearned for his entire life.
Relief and joy spread through him, warming him more than the afternoon sun. For several minutes the strong emotions overcame him, burning into his heart and searing into his mind—and then almost imperceptibly began to fade. Second by second the elation dissipated, left to be replaced with the haggard sadness of one who has caught a glimpse of what they desire most, only to watch it slip away.
What now? The sobering thought whispered, sending a chill through his heart and chasing the last vestiges of relief away. His entire life he had wanted to return to the mainland of Lumineia to search out his heritage, learn where his family had come from, and why they had brought him to the island. The questions had burned within him from the moment he had understood that Murai was not really his uncle, and now that he knew his parents’ names, the prospect of returning felt all too real. For the first time he realized that knowing his parents names didn’t quench his desire to know more.
It fueled it.
Sighing at the elusive questions, he looked down at his parents’ swords, but the shimmering metal yielded no more answers. Deciding to momentarily set aside his concerns and see what the weapons were capable of, he rose to his feet and returned his father’s sword to its scabbard, focusing on his mothers’ weapon. Although his training had included little on magic, he knew enough to know that imbued weapons required something to activate. Perhaps he had to say words or incantations?
No, that wouldn’t be it. His parents had been warriors; of that he was certain. Warriors would want their weapons accessible, and the same should go for the magic contained within them.
Lifting his mother’s sword to eye level, he concentrated on the bow he had glimpsed before the battle in the arena. Before his eyes, the blade began to bend back on itself, while the hilt stretched downward and curved backward. At the same time, the metal faded and began to shape into burnished wood, its dark grain polished and smooth. As the arcing wood neared the end, a string of green light reached out from both ends and joined in the middle. A little taken aback at how easy it had been, Taryn hesitated and then examined it more closely.
The wood of the bow looked to be oak, which was odd, because most bows were made of yew or another kind of supple wood, oak being far too stiff. Intricate designs and runes were carved expertly along the entire length of the curved weapon. Upon closer inspection, he noticed what looked like faint veins of green light twined into the wood. At the end of the bow, the green light extended straight out of the wood to become the string. Reaching for the string, he half expected his hand to pass through it,
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