The Cursed Sword

The Tales of The Seekers is a collection of short stories set in The Seekers universe. Feel free to comment so I can improve them. If you want to learn more, please do read my published books in the same universe: The Seekers: Soul-Ties, Kirin, and Perrin Peters. And if you don’t want to buy my books but still want to support me, I’m on Patreon. And if you prefer one-time payments, you can Buy Me A Pizza or a Coffee.

A heavy “clank” of stone, and the trapdoor was closed. The rough rock was all around me, illuminated by the golden flames of my torch. Too low to stand straight, too long to see the other side — the corridor that I unraveled felt majestic and mysterious.

Who built it? Why?

These questions buzzed inside my head, yet my curiosity took over. I made a step. The sound of it and the crackling of the fire comforted me, making me believe I was not so desperately alone deep underground.

Without a choice left to them, my legs pushed me forward. A hundred steps, and I reached the dead end, yet it was not empty. A wide niche was inside the wall. And in that niche shone the silver steel of a fine-looking sword. Red, green, and blue gems adorned the hilt. The straight blade looked immaculate. Who’s put it here and why?

The handle fitted my hand perfectly. Both edges felt very sharp and tapered nicely. The satisfaction that I felt after a long, hard journey — nothing could compare to it.

Away from the narrow corridor, away from the dunk cave. A breath of fresh air, a sight of deep-green sky — my mood was at its highest. I was prepared to go back home where I could decide what I would do with my new weapon.

I tucked the sword under my belt and started walking. The air was warm, and the wind was pleasant. Birds’ songs lifted my spirits. There was life all around me, unlike the dead cave. I was above all of my late worries. Life was wonderful.

Suddenly, I felt a motion at my waist and felt myself much freer, lighter. A look down, and I saw my pouches hit the ground and scatter all their contents across the forest. Terrified, I dived to catch them, but my hands gripped empty shells of leather.

As bitter sadness ran through my veins, I stood up straight. My torn belt lay beside me. My new blade lay nearby. Oh, well…

With nothing I could do, I suppressed my feelings, grabbed everything that I could find, and moved along. Without my food, I had to hunt, but my new sword proved sharp and quick.

I was one day’s walk away from home when bandits jumped me. I did not hear about an ambush on this road. I froze. Their weapons pointed at me. My will to live surrendered me to them. The leader told me to disarm, so the ancient sword met the ground. The bandits tied my arms and pushed me to my knees. The gloating chief bent down to take my prize. But when his finger lay on it, his massive body dropped dead and bloody.

The silence that I heard seemed absolute. We were all staring at what happened. Then, the bravest among them stepped closer and tried to shake her leader back to life, but it was fruitless. Suddenly, cries filled the air around me. My ears exploded from their agony. Blood dressed me in its crimson. The bodies fell, some onto me, pushing my spirit and my sanity out of my body. Now it was I who yelled, but not from pain.

Eventually, my senses all came back, little by little. My eyes opened. I blinked, trying to shake off the blood from my eyelids. I blinked again, for what I witnessed must have been a dream.

Everywhere I looked was death. The bandits were all slashed into small pieces. The red blood sank into the soil and my clothes. Its metallic smell plugged my nostrils. Staring at all this devastation, it took me a whole minute to see the one responsible. The bloodied ancient sword was back in my possession.

A jolt of dread struck me. I jerked and dropped the sword. On jelly legs, I tried to run, but only tripped. I did not look back. I crawled, then walked, then ran. The fatigue within my body was nothing in comparison to what haunted me.

The sword was charmed! It killed all of them, all on its own! I never should’ve taken it!

But my surprise was so absolute and sudden that I stopped. What was that feeling in my right hand? What was that weight that I was carrying?

My heart was pounding, yet when my eyes met the source of the disturbance, I was not surprised. The bloodied sword was in my grip. It wouldn’t leave me!

I threw it deep into the woods and ran away, but it returned. I found a river and drowned the weapon, yet it appeared again. I tried to shatter and destroy it, but nothing worked.

And then, I knew what I must do. Beaten up, without supplies, and tired, I marched back towards the caves. I walked and walked, slower with each minute, yet the caves would not approach me. Exhausted, I took a rest, restoring my lost strength. I hunted, slept, drank purest waters, and with new vigor set on the familiar path anew. Yet, no caves were to be found.

A road! I ran towards it, catching a lucky Igni caravan.

“Take this fine weapon, dear merchants!” Were my cries. By giving up the weapon willingly, I hoped to get rid of it this time.

The Igni liked the sword and took it gladly. But as I stared into their backs and waited, no joy came to me, for I was filled with fear. I tried to sleep, but fruitless. I tried to sing and make some merry. I tried to count the birds in the red sky, but the cursed thing would not leave my mind. Eventually, I dozed off.

And when I woke, no weapon could be seen. Ecstatic, I thanked the Gods and ran back home. Lighter than wind and full of energy, I made very good speed. Yet when I swung to cut some vines that grew on my way…

Arghhhhhhhhhhhh!

The weapon that I swung was the accursed sword!

~*~

The tug of magic was the strongest here. The cave was low and twisty, but rather short. The beam of light born from the LEDs of Yael’s flashlight caught the shining metal. It was a two-handed, double-bladed sword, adorned with gems, and resting in the grip of a sleeping Saxum man. But no, the cats were the only beings who slept in poses so uncomfortable.

Yael knelt next to the body. Her hand moved through the air close to the sword. The arcane field was clearly bent and twisted by it. The stream of magic radiated in every direction, but the influence over the poor Saxum was severe and violent, most likely deliberate. A curse, in common speech.

The Saxum’s palm opened, obeying Yael’s magic, and the sword floated away from it. Very dry lips, pale skin, and barely any breathing — the man was close to death.

“Hey, Mar,” said Yael telepathically. “I found a starving Saxum. If you can save him, say the word.”

“Wh— Oh, sure, I’ll try.” The familiar voice echoed in her skull. “Shit! I always forget I’m not supposed to talk to you out loud.”

“Haha!” Yael carefully raised the poor fellow into the air. “You’ll get used to it. Just grab Bacara and run home. I’ll get him there.”

Her will opened a portal, and she carried the man through, but not before dropping a magical amulet close to the sword. She’ll be back here. She’ll learn everything about this curse. And if she can copy it, well, her enemies will prove great test subjects.

The End

Anton Anderson, 2021—2025

If you want to know who Yael, Mar, and Bacara are, you should read my fantasy novel, The Seekers: Soul Ties. A lot more about the Saxum people can be found on the pages of my second fantasy novel, The Seekers: Kirin. A bit more information about Yael can be found in my sci-fantasy detective novel, The Seekers: Perrin Peters.