“Can you believe it's finally our time?” - Marcel's excitement was such that his voice rose above the noise of the crowd of masters and apprentices in the human corridor formed in front of the weapons arsenal.
Around him, his classmates were no longer the picky kids of a few years ago. They were all young men of around 15, looking even older after years of training. The teasing between them continued, but now they formed the class of veteran apprentices, ready to receive their Swords of Honor and begin their final year of swordsmanship training.
“Please form a line, everyone!” - the requests of the boy assigned to organize the apprentices eager to enter the armory and choose their swords were constantly ignored.
“We don't need to queue, Josian, let us stay here.” - With one arm around Halene's waist, Druck seemed to make no effort to negotiate with the poor foreman.
“Druck, you, Quel and Feara come in last in order, you should be at the end of the queue.” - the boy was really trying to impose some kind of leadership, but it was useless. There was no way to control the spirits and excitement of the apprentices on the day of their Sword of Honor Ceremony.
“Josi, we will get organized when the people start going in, is that ok?” - Quel tried to reconcile the situation, but Josian shrugged his shoulders. It was a losing battle.
“So, Feara, today we're finally going to discover your best-kept secret. After years criticizing everyone's sword name, you're going to have to name your dagger in front of the whole village. You can't let us down with a bad name, you know. Especially a blade forged especially for you.” - Druck's and Feara's pettiness had only increased in recent years.
“You know, Jelly, I'm still moved by my friend Halene's bravery. First for dating you, of course, and second for letting you come third in the Competitive Tournaments, joining Quel and me in the honor of having a custom-forged sword.” - the irony overflowed as the two chatted, entertaining the whole group around them.
“She only did it because she knows that, as an apprentice of Master Blacksmith Melin, she'll be able to forge her own sword whenever she wants! Clever girl.” - interrupted Marcel, giving Halene a wink.
“You amuse me,” Halene finally said, ”and you should thank me, because if you got Master Melin's approval to forge THREE custom-made swords in the same year, it's because I asked him to.” - Her pride was reciprocated by a kiss from her boyfriend.
“What can we do if we're all followers of Quel, aren't we, Druck?” - said Feara, turning to her friend who was smiling quietly in a corner.
The last two years have been very intense for the young woman. The lessons with Master Rhano have pushed her to the limit many times and she has questioned herself many other times whether it was right, always consoling herself with Zer, who guided her to move on and trust.
The girls sorted themselves out with Druck, especially Halene, but Quel never managed to have the conversation with him she should have. While everyone wiped the slate clean, Quel still stifled the echoes of that episode somewhere inside her. Her solution was the sword and an unusual dedication to lessons and training, which ensured that today she would receive her perfectly balanced Spatha forged by the talented Master Blacksmith Melin.
Despite the pain of the process, those around her were her family, so she responded to Feara with all her love:
“You're two imitators, that's what you are.” - the group burst into laughter. Feara jumped into her friend in a tight hug: “You're the best of us and you know it, Quel.”
Untangling herself from Druck's arm, Halene said to everyone: “Let's help poor Josian's work and organize this queue at once.” Then she turned to her boyfriend and her friends: “You make me proud. I love all three of you.” She opened her arms and called them together for a hug, which was immediately reciprocated.
“Don't forget to choose a decent name for your swords or Feara will stalk you both for the rest of your lives.” - And she left laughing to join the queue of apprentices who were already starting to enter the armory through the back door, leaving the boy and his two friends alone.
Quel didn't feel comfortable around Druck when Halene wasn't there, but she had learned to disguise this annoyance over time by striking up a random conversation with whoever else was around. This time it wasn't necessary, Feara came forward.
“So, Quel, have you thought any more about your assignment?” - her friend had been insisting on this subject, especially after the Allocation Tournaments.
“I have, and I haven't changed my mind.” - this standard answer never satisfied her.
“Quelzinha, think straight. You were brilliant in the Allocation Tournaments. You have strength, technique, intelligence, you'll do well anywhere. If you ask, the masters will give you all assignments received, and you will be able to choose with your eyes closed where to go. And you still want to stay in the village and become a monk?!” - Feara's indignation was genuine. “Maybe you'll feel the call when you hold the...” - and interrupted herself.
“Wait! Do you know what I'm going to call my sword?”
“Well, apart from the special request you made regarding the pommel, you talk about it even in your sleep.” - Feara's realization made Quel give an embarrassed smile.
“You know what worries me most, Quel? - it was rare to hear such seriousness from Feara - You need to live your life. Your world today is just the village, but there's so much more out there that you need to explore. Without knowing the possibilities, it's much harder to really know yourself. You are much more than your sword.”
Quel had no arguments against this, but she also didn't want to admit that a large part of her decision was motivated by fear of the unknown.
“Look, Quel,” Druck saved her from answering her friend, ”the outside world can be pretty grim, I know, but it also teaches you what the masters don't teach us here. Maybe we'll see things differently now in the War Training classes, but you still have to experience certain lessons to learn them.”
“And there's that too! - If you don't accept any assignments before becoming a monk, you can't teach in War Training. It would be a huge loss for future apprentices. Think about it, Quel, you need to go so you can come back.” - There was affection in those words and a hint of triumph at the perfect rationale she and Druck had built.
Quel was aware of this, but they didn't even know what was taught in War Training - these classes only began after the apprentices received their Swords of Honor - and the name was not at all inviting. Perhaps teaching younger apprentices would be more interesting, at least that's what Quel tried to convince herself, without much success.
Noticing her friend's look of doubt, Feara said: “Please, let me try, in our last year, to change your mind?” - Hope shone in the young woman's eyes and Quel couldn't deny the request.
“Okay, but...”
“No buts! We start this weekend! There's going to be a big festival in the village, illusion shows, traveling troupes, good food and interesting people. And you're coming with us, no training and no discussion!” - Quel hadn't expected this kind of offer, but she knew breaking a deal with Feara could be much worse.
“All right, all right...” - Quel replied resignedly.
“Feara,” called Josian, holding the back door of the armory open, ”your turn.”
The girl exhaled sharply, looked at her friends with affection and did the swordsmen's salute, placing her closed right hand over her heart: “We'll see you on the other side, swordsmen.” And she followed Josian into the armory.
The joy of seeing her friend heading towards her dreamed-of curved dagger made of damascus steel with a handle adorned with small pieces of lapis lazuli - “blue as the sky” as she always said - went away when Quel found herself alone with Druck, a situation she had avoided at all costs for the last two years.
“Okay, all she has to do is go into the armory, take off the apprentice trappings, put on her belt and black swordsman's truncheons, come out, grab her sword quickly and...” - the girl's thoughts listed the facts as if they could speed up time and avoid the inevitable.
“Quel...” - When Druck called her name, her only thought was: “HURRY UP, FEARA!”, but that conversation couldn't be ignored, and she was forced to look at the boy.
“I don't think we ever got to talk about what happened at the first tournaments...” - Druck's voice was gentle, which only made it worse.
Panic and a breakdown in all of Quel's internal systems, she felt the sealed boxes where she had kept that subject internally shaking all at the same time.
“Shhh... let's hear the name of Feara's sword!” - was all she could answer. The boy kept quiet and listened attentively. That heavy silence began to overwhelm Quel, who immediately closed her eyes and began to regulate her breathing, seeking balance. Druck credited the tension to the anxiety of receiving their swords and didn't notice his presence was the catalyst for this effect.
A silent eternity passed before they heard Feara's high-pitched voice: “Freedom!” followed by the shouts and claps of celebration from the village gathered in front of the armory.
Before Josian could open the door again or Druck could comment on the name of Feara's sword, Quel stepped forward, pushing the boy in the back: “Your turn, go on!”. He didn't understand why she was in such a hurry, but he heard the door open and went in, still confused, to the place where he would receive his final swordsman's accessories.
Letting go of her breathing, Quel inhaled deeply. That sudden nervousness wasn't acceptable, she couldn't be like that around one of her best friend’s boyfriend, and she did everything she could to dispel those thoughts. He was a friend like any other and what had happened was in the past. She repeated this until Josian called her. It was finally her turn.
Quel entered the silent armory, full of blades everywhere. They didn't speak, but they seemed to encourage her to follow them to the table near the main door of the great hall inside.
Only her belt and her pair of black wrist guards remained on the surface.
Quel began to take off her brown accessories and reminisced about her sixth birthday. Her main memory wasn't the frustration of knowing that her initiation wouldn't take place that day, but the joy of looking for objects that might look like a swordsman's clothes to wear. Now the real ones were in front of her.
She untied her wrist guards and removed the armband - a symbol of the apprentice she was no longer from that moment on. Her new accessories had only her name embroidered in gold on the inside, they hadn't given Quel a surname, but she was proud to carry the name her family had chosen and recorded on the note Master Rhano had kept. He had promised to give it back to her when she graduated.
She looked at her new accessories and felt at peace. If it hadn't been for one detail, she would have felt complete, but there was a missing piece waiting for her outside. She took a calming breath and opened the front door of the armory.
Years and years being part of that ritual were not enough to explain the feeling of stand at the beginning of the human corridor, with dozens of eyes silently waiting for her. It was solemn, magical, unique.
The masters seemed more emotional than usual, Ramira was sobbing, and when she met Zer's watery eyes, Quel had to control herself to maintain her posture. He had asked her to conduct this year's ceremony.
“Dear Quel, receive your Sword of Honor from Master Blacksmith Melin.” - announced Zer affectionately.
The cadenced sound produced by the apprentices' feet hitting the ground made the walk of Blacksmith Melin and his assistant to Quel even more tense. With a delicate movement, the old blacksmith opened the cloth over his companion's hands and revealed the clear glow of Quel's missing part.
“Wield it with your heart.” - said Melin as he laid the blade horizontally across Quel's hands.
Instead of feeling the weight of an object made of metal, the sword seemed to fit perfectly into the girl's hands, and she gazed at it.
Made only of light metals, its shine was almost white. The short guard was the ideal size to protect Quel's fingers, with silver fillets spiraling down the handle to its carved pommel: a hollowed-out circle with the image of five identical animals running towards the rim, joined only by the end of their tails in the center of the piece, identical to Quel's necklace.
The girl wielded the sword with her left hand, passed it to her right hand and yes, now she was complete. She raised her Sword of Honor and shouted:
“Silver Bear!”
And the whole village celebrated as if for the last time.
The Tales of Greenfar are originally written in Portuguese. If you find any major mistakes, please be kind and let me know 🌻
🔖 New chapters every Friday!
What has already happened in Greenfar:
Prologue: The beginning of Greenfar
Chapter 1: Alone in the forest
Chapter 2: Marks
Chapter 3: Zelas
Chapter 4: The Chosen Ones?
Chapter 5: Storms
Chapter 6: Ghraul
Chapter 7: Ramira
Chapter 8: Almost 10
Chapter 9: In the search may we remain
Chapter 10: Finally, blades.
Chapter 11: Sword of honor
Chapter 12: Intrusive thoughts
Chapter 13: Battles in and out
Chapter 14: Relax and fight
Chapter 15: Black Stars
Chapter 16: Noises
Chapter 17: Low blow
Chapter 18: Everything hurts
Chapter 19: Anger and Pride
Chapter 20: Jelly
Chapter 21: Let the celebrations begin
Chapter 22: The necklace
Chapter 23: Lies
Chapter 24: More disappointments
Chapter 25: Between tears and blows
Chapter 26: Master Rhano's diary
Chapter 27: In the gutter