“No matter the tragedy,

  the living must carry on.”

  - King Dagon,

  Address to the Nation

  following the Kane assassinations

  Chapter four: Call to Revenge

  Returning to the island of Marek to bury the dead had been the hardest thing Maria had ever had to do. Communicating through his droid, the Blight offered to bury the bodies. As appreciated as the offer was, the survivors realized they needed to do it themselves. It was the closure they all needed. Maria could only be thankful that they all had the opportunity in the first place.

  Despite his offer to help, the Blight remained distant from the survivors. Between patrolling the perimeter and being sure the pirates were secured away, he maintained a strict five or more meter distance from the others. Maria only noticed these things in passing, given her attentions were focused elsewhere.

  After a few uncomfortable hours, the majority were done. As the last of the survivors returned from burying their dead, Naf approached Maria, Penny, and Zenny. They stood with packs of possessions on their backs in the gentle rain, watching their village burn to the ground. It was a sad, but necessary step to ensure their survival. More Dread Pirate chapters were still out there, and would no doubt try to get their Commodore back. There was no turning back now.

  “Much ready, everyone? Yes?” the little droid inquired.

  “Yes. ‘Much ready,’” Maria replied, wiping a tear from her eye.

  “Much good. So agreed? Take you to Rosari?” the droid asked.

  “Yes,” Maria confirmed, “everyone was in agreement.”

  “So good.”

  “And this place is safe?” Penny inquired, an important question Maria had wished she had thought to ask.

  “Yes. Much safe. So safe. Must leave though. Storm get worse.”

  Given all she had been through in the past twenty-four hours, Maria had doubts about the silent stranger and his strangely spoken droid. The Blight had no demands to speak of, and did not say a word to anyone. It was as though he could not speak at all. She wondered if his motivations were purely humanitarian. Then again, how could she doubt him? He had risked life and limb and defeated superior forces to save them from a life of slavery. For now she would have to trust him, despite his unwillingness to share his motivations.

  Upon boarding The Skull Breaker, Maria could not help but revel in the sight of the pirates being thrown into the same cells she and her compatriots had occupied only hours ago. Most still lay unconscious from the beating the Blight had given them. It took all the resolve she had within her not to open the cells,, and slay every one of them with the sword. After what they did, they more than deserved it. Which led her to wonder something.

  “What will happen to the pirates?” Maria asked as Naf walked towards the elevator.

  “Much tried by the Rosarian court,” he answered, maintaining his stride.

  “Not the Protecterate?” Zenny interjected. They were the protecting force in these waters.

  “Much no. Unsponsored pilgrims no have protection from pirates in Protectorate court. Rosarian court try though. Much laws against humanity.”

  Maria could have told Zenny the same. The Aratoorian government was as corrupt as they were greedy. If the pilgrims on the islands in their jurisdiction did not meet strict, unreasonable tax standards, then the law would not protect them. The settlement felt no need to join, given they would be taxed without representation.

  Upon arriving at the boarding room level, the majority of the islanders retired to their new found rooms. Among them, Zenny and Penny. Maria, however, opted to stay awake. She could not imagine sleeping now anyway, despite how exhausted she might have been.

  Deciding to explore the ship, she began on the armory level. She will soon visit the bridge and see if the Blight needed relief but for now, she had time to kill. She hoped to find some information about him somewhere around the ship before trying to converse with him again. Every time she asked him a question, Naf would answer for him, and gave her little information. She could not so much as get a name.

  The elevator door opened to the armory just as The Skull Breaker began its ascent. The armory level was quite a bit dimmer than the other levels, she noticed. Its walls were older, and even rusted in some spots. Additionally, it had no separated spaces apart from the hallway and a door leading up to only one large doorway. Filled with rocks and shells of armor, weapons, and shield modifications. There was no limit as to what could be found here.

  Maria did not see her staying there long. Little caught her eye. Littler still was anything she would want to take. That was, until she saw them.

  Laying on a table in the back were the blades. Sheba’s blades. Swords which were unparalleled in craftsmanship, and formally hung in a place of prominence in the Undasi’s home.

  Watloosie in design, the blades were significant in both the historical and familial sense. They felt… special. To admit such aloud would sound foolish, but Maria always thought there was more to the blades than what its appearance showed. Maria could go so far as to say that they called out to her.

  As she approached them, their beckoning became stronger. She began to feel a certain, irresistible urge to grab them. She would have done so anyway out of curiosity, but her motivation now was much different. It was as though she could not feel whole save she lay hold. Such an urge was one Maria typically knew to be wrong when it came to possessions. Why was this urge so strong?

  “Then again,” she thought, “what was the harm?” It was not like the blades were some addictive substance. They were merely tools in the most primitive sense of the word. What harm could it bring to touch them? To simply hold them?

  Reaching out, she then paused. She remembered her grandmother had warned her of cursed objects. Objects tainted by witchcraft. Grandma Espenoza blamed her incurable deafness upon having touched one. She tended to be more superstitious than not, but that did not explain why her deafness could not be cured. Blindness, deafness, and the like had been made curable, but her grandmother’s could not be cured, no matter how doctor’s tried. Perhaps her grandmother’s fears were not so outlandish after all.

  “Now I’m being the superstitious one,” she reasoned. She recalled touching the blades once before upon visiting the Undasi’s in their home. The blades could not be cursed. Her fears were unwarranted. Still, the question remained: “Why do the blades call to me now, when they had not before?

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Only one way to find out,” Maria resolved.

  Slowly, she reached out and touched the blades. They were cold to the touch. Closing her eyes, her silent reservations still present, she wondered what would happen next. Holding the blades, she saw that nothing occurred. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Well,” she said aloud, “I suppose there was nothing to worry about.”

  Unconsciously and in order to release some anxious tension, she gently clashed the two blades together. At that moment, Maria saw her surroundings begin to slip out of reality. Frozen in fear, she desperately looked around in hopes of figuring out her situation. In seconds, the room around her was no more. Only a cloudy, empty void remained. Maria was left dazed and confused. It was as though she was teleported to another plane of reality.

  In this realm, she could use her senses normally. Everything about herself seemed to have remained the same. That was, until she looked down to her hands.

  “The blades,” she said aloud, looking around for them. Mysteriously, they had vanished. They were nowhere to be found.

  “They’re not yours, so why do you seek them?” a voice from behind her asked, startling her.

  Turning to look behind her, she could not believe her eyes. Standing before her, alive and well, was Sheba Undasi. In her hands were the blades she was looking for. One reclined in her left hand, and the other pointed directly at Maria.

  “Sheba! You’re… alive! But how?“ Maria said, approaching the older women in disbelief.

  “You did not answer my question,“ Sheba replied, sticking the point of her blade right above Maria’s heart.

  “Sheba…“ Maria began, stunned to find her so aggressive. “It’s me, Maria. Don’t you recognize me?“

  “I do not,“ she replied bluntly.

  “But we helped settle the island together. We built our settlement from the ground up, we-”

  “I am not the Sheba you know,” she remarked, cutting the young Aratoorian off.

  Maria took a step back.

  “Then who are you?“

  “I am Sheba Undasi.”

  “OK…” Maria replied, exasperated. She was now quite unsure as to what she had gotten herself into, and did not like the tone of this imposter. She prepared herself to run should the need arise.

  “I am merely a reflection of her, however. An imitation, holding the total sum of her fighting skill and knowledge.”

  “How is this possible?” Maria asked, bewildered.

  “Enough of your questions!” Sheba hissed, “It is time for you to answer mine. Why do you seek to have these blades?”

  “I was looking for them because I was holding them before coming here,“ Maria replied innocently. “I was just wondering where they had gotten off to.That’s all.”

  Sheba paused.

  “You mean you did not mean to come here?” the older woman replied, breaking her silence.

  “No. I don’t even know where ‘here’ is…”

  “Then I will send you back.”

  “Wait!“ Maria cried, raising her hand to halt her. “The blades… they called to me. That’s why I picked them up in the first place.”

  Sheba paused once more, sighing. Her face expressed that she now better grasped the situation. She approached Maria, sizing her up.

  “So you deserve a chance. If you are worthy.”

  “Worthy? Of what?” Maria asked.

  “Worthy of the power of the blades. Do you intend to use their power to avenge your lost spouse?”

  “How do you know I lost my spouse? Maria asked, taken back. Sheba appeared bored with the question, but answered anyway.

  “The blades would not have called out to you otherwise.”

  Maria was unsure of her answer. She had always been a fighter, but given all she had been through in such a short time, she had not had time to process at all. What power could the blades offer her anyway? She opted to learn more.

  “What kind of power?”

  “I cannot reveal the secrets of the blades to you until you are found worthy,“ Sheba responded, dodging the question.

  “And how would I be found worthy?” She said, leary of whatever test Sheba had planned for her.

  Before Maria knew what happened, Sheba used the blade to nick her shoulder. The cut was minute; how be it, deep. Blood was drawn, and had stained the edge of the blade. Sheba raised it to show her.

  “If the blood remains, you are worthy. If the blood is burned away, you are not,” Sheba explained.

  Maria tensed up. The realization of what might happen if she was not found worthy was a harsh one. This Sheba was far different than the one she had known. It was as though she was talking to an A.I. representation of her, rather than Sheba herself. If she truly sought revenge, she did not want to die today.

  The two women looked at the blood, wondering what would become of it. Until Sheba gave the word, the test was not complete. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Maria’s heart sank as she saw the blood sizzle and burn away.

  “You are not worthy.”

  “What? No… That doesn’t make any sense,” Maria replied in disbelief. “I want those who took my James away to pay for what they’ve done. Surely-”

  “The test never fails. It’s final. The outcome is always the outcome,“ Shiba stated, not bothering to be sympathetic towards Maria’s plight.

  Maria had been unsure of her path before, but now she was more sure than ever. Her blood boiled within her, as her face grew hot with rage. She longed to have revenge on the people who executed and orchestrated the massacre. She longed for vengeance, and wanted nothing than the tools to make that happen. They had to pay, even if this fake Sheba would not help her. She would not be deprived of the justice she and the others were owed.

  “Fine then. Get me out of here. I’ll do it on my own,“ Maria replied.

  “Do you mean you do not want the power of the blades?“ Sheba inquired, confused.

  “No. I have revenge to dish out. If you’re not going to help me, I don’t have any more time to waste here.”

  Sheba smiled.

  “You are worthy, Maria of Aratoor.”

  “You seriously need to make up your mind,” Maria retorted angrily.

  “The blood would have burned on the blade either way. The test was in your reaction. By resolving to have your revenge without the blade's help, you proved yourself worthy of its assistance.”

  “And this makes sense how?”

  “Because singular drive is the first step in accomplishing revenge. You must be willing to pursue it, even if you are the only one who is. The blades only help those who help themselves.”

  “I see, then. So explain to me what makes these blades of yours so special.”

  “Long ago, the blade’s were forged by a Zenglo warrior who had lost his wife to the Toree, Zenglo war of 766. His name was Bolt Marlei, and he was not only a great warrior, but a great sorcerer. He forged his blades to exact his revenge, and put many of his powers into it. Among the greatest of these powers was a spell called ZIKKARRON or ‘memorial’ in the old Isjude tongue. By placing this spell onto the blades, whoever proved themselves worthy of revenge and used the blades would leave their imprint upon it, leaving behind a vast pool of collective knowledge. Along with that, a sum total of the user’s knowledge of war, as well as their combat experience. Upon exacting their revenge, the blades would no longer make its powers accessible to the user,” Sheba explained.

  “So Sheba must have gained her revenge, and you are her imprint?“ Maria asked.

  “Correct. Besides myself, there are 198 others who have used these blades. You will make the 200th.”

  “And all these people lost their spouses as well? Maria inquired, remembering how Sheba had formerly been a widow.

  “Correct. The blades only call to widows and widowers. In time, the other users of these blades will teach you their secrets. For now I will teach you some of mine,“ Sheba explained.

  “I see.”

  “So, Maria of Aratoor, will you answer vengeance’s call? Will you smite your oppressors, and exact justice for yourself?” Sheba asked, extending one of the blades to her.

  She reached out and took the blade by its hilt.

  “I will,” her brow furrowed in determination.