“Yeah, okay. I am satisfied.”
The crowd roared approval. Kitsune Kai plucked the teacup from Brendan’s hand and hopped down from the stone. Brendan gratefully lowered himself to the stone and got back on his feet. He was starting to feel that he might get through these tests after all. His elation died when he saw Pukh step up onto the rock.
The Lord of Tir na nOg took a moment to gaze out over the crowd. Pukh had a sense of the theatrical, letting the tension build and the crowd slowly cease its chatter. Finally, when he had absolute silence, he raised his hands. “I have thought long and hard about this Proving. It is said that you are descended from the line of Morn. I was a close compatriot of Briach Morn. I was his comrade-inarms in darker times.” A whisper stirred the crowd before he continued. “But it is contested that the great Briach Morn was your father.” He paused here for effect, looking out over the crowd solemnly. “True, I can see his face in yours, Brendan, but I must be sure. Thus, my test!” He waved a hand and two Faeries moved forward carrying a long, narrow wooden box between them. The box was simple and rough-hewn with two rope handles at either end. From their staggering approach, it was clear that the box was quite heavy. They set the box on the grass with a dull thud.
“As you may or may not know, Brendan,” Pukh said, pausing to arch an eyebrow at the audience, emphasizing Brendan’s ignorance, “Faerie weapons and armour are keyed to the energy of their owners. By lucky chance, I happen to have an item that once belonged to my dear friend Briach.” Pukh flicked a wrist at the bearers and they bent to flip open the lid of the box. Lying inside was a long object wrapped in black silk. Pukh lifted the bundle easily in one hand and joined Brendan on the rock.
Brendan was torn between dread at being so close to the Lord of Tir na nOg and curiosity about the object.
Pukh continued to speak as he gently unwrapped the bundle with his long, elegant fingers. “When Faeries die, their armour and weapons lose their power and quickly dissolve. Your Father, however, is not dead. He merely chose, in his grief over his wife’s death, to go to the Other Side. Therefore, his weapons and armour remain intact. He left them in my safe-keeping until the…” Pukh stopped suddenly, then affected sorrow. “Alas! So sad. So much potential lost. He was an old friend and I miss his counsel.” He pulled the cloth from the object, revealing a beautifully wrought sword. He was careful to keep the hilt wrapped in silk as he held it. “This was his favourite blade. I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to pronounce the name in the Old Tongue, Brendan. In English, it would be called Dawn Cleaver.”
Brendan held his breath. The weapon was exquisitely crafted. The blade was a metre long with a single cutting edge. Sunlight danced along the razor-sharp edge, dazzling Brendan’s eyes. The hilt was a simple cross. The entire weapon seemed to be formed from one continuous piece of smoky, translucent crystal. It was a beautiful, deadly object.
More fascinating to Brendan was the sound. He could feel rather than hear a deep, rich humming as though the sword were vibrating to music only he could hear. It was like a tuning fork struck by a celestial finger.
“The sword is tuned to Briach, but if Brendan is really his son, he should be able to hold the weapon without undue harm,” Pukh explained.
“NO!” Deirdre cried. “It’s too dangerous!” Ariel placed a hand on her arm to restrain her.
“Deirdre,” Ariel said. “Pukh has chosen the test. He is a judge. You cannot interfere.”
“But he is young in his powers,” Deirdre insisted. “Even though he is Briach’s son and Morn blood flows in his veins, the imprinting of the blade upon his mind may drive him mad. Or worse. If the blade rejects him, it could be fatal!”
Ariel’s face was hard. He glared at Brendan. “He must be Proven. I, for one, would have Brendan Prove beyond a doubt that he is of the line of Morn and that his initiation was valid.” Ariel’s authority was at stake as well. He had accepted Brendan’s initiation and must have found it humiliating to have his judgment questioned by the Proving ceremony.
“What’s the point if he doesn’t make it through the Proving?” Deirdre insisted.
Brendan laid a hand on his aunt’s arm. “It’s okay, Aunt Deirdre. I have to do it. Otherwise people like Pukh will never stop finding new reasons to doubt me. If I do this, it’s over.”
He could see the concern in Deirdre’s eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it without a word, nodded, and stepped back. Brendan smiled with a reassurance he didn’t quite feel himself and turned to face Pukh.
“What is the harm?” Pukh smiled. “If he is truly the son of Briach and Bir-Gidha, he should be none the worse. But if he isn’t… ” Pukh’s smile darkened. “Well, then, I’ve done my job.” Pukh held the sword out to Brendan in both hands, being careful to handle only the black silken cloth.
Brendan hesitated. The hum emanating from the sword was a siren song to him. His hands itched to grasp the weapon so that he could hear its voice more clearly. He forced himself to pause and consider the consequences. Touching the sword might end this ordeal once and for all, but it might also be the last thing he ever did.
He looked up into Pukh’s face. The handsome features were fixed in a state of friendly detachment, giving nothing away. Brendan had a flash of insight then. He suddenly realized who had protested Ariel’s acceptance of his initiation. Pukh had forced this Proving, made him jump through hoops and live through this terrifying ordeal. He looked into that blandly smiling face and felt a rush of anger. Brendan understood that he’d been manoeuvred into a corner for some purpose that only the Lord of the Everlasting Lands knew. He had a sudden desire to show the smirking Faerie that he wasn’t afraid of him. Without another thought, he reached out and grasped the sword.
The hum sang bright and clear, filling his head as soon as his hands touched the smooth, cool surface of the blade. Brendan closed his eyes and listened to the sweet tone. Is this all? he thought. He’d never heard such a beautiful sound. The note was pure and clear, resonating in every fibre of his body, every bone and blood vessel, every hair on his head. Ecstasy! He had heard the word before and thought he understood it, but this was ecstasy distilled into sound and poured into his soul through his palms.
Suddenly, his entire body ignited in agony. Lightning jagged along his nerves, and the hum escalated into a shriek that threatened to tear his head apart. Together, the pain and the sound grew to fill Brendan’s entire universe. Blinding white light flared, though he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or shut. For that matter, he couldn’t tell if he was up or down, in or out. Brendan didn’t care. He just wanted it to stop.
He realized then that the shriek was coming from the blade itself. The sword wasn’t dead like some Human creation. No, it was a living thing with a mind and a soul of its own. The sword felt Brendan’s foreign touch and was attacking him. The sword wanted to destroy him.
“Stop!” he shouted, not knowing whether he screamed aloud or only in his head. The tiny part of him that could still think reasonably wondered how much time had passed and whether he was dead or not. That’s when he heard the voice.
“Breandan. Can you hear me?”
He recognized the voice, though he’d heard it only once before.
“Father?”
“Yes, son.”
“What’s happening?”
“You hold Dawn Cleaver. It is tuning itself to you. The sword served me and will serve you now. We are connected for a very short time.”
“Where are you? How can I hear you?”
“We may speak now, if only for a moment.”
“Pukh brought the sword for my Proving.”
“I am aware. Dawn Cleaver told me what is happening.”
“It speaks to you?”
“Yes, as it will to you. Listen to me. We haven’t long.”
“But I have questions.” Brendan couldn’t believe he was talking to his father. He had so many things he wanted to ask him about, things that he’d thought of since the last time they’d met in the basement of the orphanage.