Wednesday, August 31, 2005

   Chapter 2: Future (part 5)
“So, what about you?” Danesan asked. Normally, Pen wouldn’t answer such a question, but the angel was an exception. He respected the wise smith, so it was one of the few things he could do to show his gratitude.
“I’m going to University this year,” he said, tossing the sword back and forth between his hands.
“You got invited early, huh?” Danesan commented, bent over his work and only looking up briefly to meet Pen’s gaze. “I had suspected you would. Talent like yours is in high demand. I take it you’re going to Havoc after?”
“Yes.”
The angel sighed, remembering his own past. “Yeah, I wanted to do Havoc when I was your age, too. But I was never selected, and so I went through University Accelerated instead, where I got hooked on making swords.” He shrugged. “I guess I was never a real fighter anyway. It was the swords I loved.”
“Is it really that hard to get chosen to be tested for Havoc?”
“Oh yeah,” Danesan’s tone became more serious. “It’s very hard, and it’s even harder to actually get picked to be in it. I hear that there’s only about two or three new warriors that can take students every year, which means there’s twelve kids that will get picked. And, rumor has it; only half of the people who get picked actually end up graduating. The rest fail or even die. Havoc is for the seriously elite.”
“I’ll make it!” Pen exclaimed, releasing all of his pent-up, angry energy into the sword, driving it into the wooden floor. More softly, he added, “I have to.”
Danesan paused from his work, put down his tools again, and came over to Pen so he was facing him. Pen had let go of the sword, and was staring with so much concentration at the blade that he hadn’t even noticed that the angel had moved. I have to make it, he thought over and over. I have to make it. It’s the only thing I’ve got. I have to make it!
“You’ll never make it to Havoc without a good sword,” Danesan said, breaking the silence. He pulled it out of floor, took the scabbard from the shelf where he had left it, and put the sword back in. Then, he held it out to Pen.
“What?”
“Here. It’s yours.”
Pen’s empty eyes met Danesan’s smiling ones. Suddenly, they were filled with something other than darkness.
“But… but I have nothing to trade. The Archives swords…”
“No. I want you to have it. It’s a gift from me to you.”
Pen took the sword. “Why are you doing this? This is a seriously good sword. You shouldn’t just give it away because I’ve known you for a couple of years.”
Danesan had returned to his workshop and had his back to Pen.
“The caravan to Goswen Port for the boats to University leaves in a week. I don’t reckon I’ll be seeing you again before then. This is good-bye for now.” The angel flicked his wings.
Pen hesitated, wanting to say something, but he couldn’t find the right words. After a moment of silence, he strode over to door and pulled back the curtain, intending to leave. But just before he stepped out of the smithy, he heard Danesan speak.
“Boy, you’ll be going places I could never have dreamed of.”

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