The Sword Called Sacred

Author’s Note: This story is a continuation of the story that began in “The Prince’s Rival.” Though you can read and understand this story on its own, to read the more complete story, you will also want to read the prior installment.

“The Sword Called Sacred”

Prince Berlick of Vaamtomae was finally getting used to life in two dimensions. 

After a strange occurrence in the woods, the prince found himself trapped in a red-tinted mirror—a mirror in the possession of a mysterious enchanter.

An enchanter who now had the prince’s sword.

Berlick was frozen in the mirror, and he was awake and aware the entire time. He never actually felt hungry, nor did he need to breathe, but he did feel stiff.

Stiff, and anxious, and restless, and altogether unsettled.

He lost track of how long he’d been trapped. Days? Weeks? Months? Years? Decades?

Through the mirror, he could see out to wherever the looking glass faced. 

Prince Berlick tried recounting all he’d seen. First, the enchanter had looked over the reflection for awhile. Then, the enchanter had picked up the mirror and hiked for hours on end through the woods. Eventually, he was carried through a city of some sort and walked through an inn. 

After that, the red mirror had been hung up on a wall in what the prince assumed to be the enchanter’s home. The enchanter set the sword called Sacred on a stool facing the mirror, and Berlick wondered if the enchanter had put it there just to tantalize him.

Sometimes, the enchanter would enter, pick up the sword, sit on the stool for awhile, and swing the sword around, letting the blade sing as it cut through the air.

Finally, one day, for the first time since the day the prince had originally been trapped, the enchanter spoke.

“Prince Berlick of Vaamtomae. Would you like your sword back?”

Berlick tried to move, scream, flinch, anything, but he knew it’d be pointless. With all his might, he tried to answer, but the only noise came from the sacred sword’s hum.

The enchanter pulled this hood back to reveal his face—wrinkled, thin but not gaunt, and with a long, white beard that started on his chin. “You were foolish, Prince. I hope ye learned yer lesson b’now. I gave you plenty o’ time.”

Prince Berlick tried moving again, but still to no avail. 

“Your fatal flaw, if ye must know, is how ye used the sword. Sacred here is not meant for bloodshed. You must’ve been told when she was passed how to ye? The sword called Sacred is not for fighting, but for healing.”

The enchanter extended the sword to the mirror, and when the tip touched the mirror’s surface, the sword vibrated and sung a simple, three-note melody. After it finished its little riff, the sword held out a high note, and Berlick could feel his body begin to shake.

The mirror burst, and Berlick suddenly was floating in a cloud of broken, bright red stained glass. A moment later, he fell to the floor, solid once more.

Prince Berlick gasped for breath and forced himself to stand. He brushed the tiny blood-red shards off of his body, and he marveled that he was somehow unharmed. He also looked over his figure and continued running his hands over his body, checking that somehow, despite his time in the mirror, he really was solid, three-dimensional, and back to normal. 

Then, he reached to grab Sacred from the enchanter. 

The enchanter jumped back and yanked the sword away from Prince Berlick’s reach. the enchanter put his palm in front of him, and an invisible force pushed Berlick into the wall behind him.

“Not yet, Prince. And here I thought ye’d learned yer lesson. Do you want to go back in the mirror so soon?”

The prince shook his head. “No. Besides the sword, what I want is answers. How did you trap me here? Who was I fighting in the woods? Who are you?”

The enchanter laughed. “I am the Enchanter of Elsanstrance. I believe you’ve heard of me? You probably gathered as much by now. Now, I will answer some more of ye questions, but not all. Some things be better t’ remain a mystery.”

“Why did you take me captive?”

“I didn’t take you captive, Prince. You fell into a trap. I merely collected you.”

“A trap?”

“Actually, ’twas more like a test—specifically for the bearer of the sword called Sacred.”

“Let me guess: I failed?”

“Quite miserably, I’m afraid.”

Berlick sighed. “Now that that’s been established, may I have Sacred back?”

“No. First, I will teach you how to use it.”

The prince scoffed. “It’s a sword. I’ve known how to use swords since my youth.”

“No, Prince Berlick. I’m afraid you were not properly trained for this one. Are you aware of the Legend of Sword Sacred? Do you know the tale of its forging?”

Berlick hesitated. “Vague details. I think my grandfather told me once.”

“Once isn’t enough, I’m afraid. Did you see how I used the sword a few minutes ago? What did I slice? Are you hurt?”

He put a hand on his chin. “No, I’m perfectly fine. I don’t know what the sword touched, to tell the truth.”

The enchanter said, “According to the Scroll of the Forging, ‘Sacred heals what other blades destroy, mends what other blades rend. Sacred sings when another blade stings. Sacred cuts what other blades don’t perceive—the Sacred blade relieves.’ 

“Your blade was never meant to be used as other blades are used. I didn’t use your sword to harm you, but to help you. Now, do you trust me to teach you its ways?”

Prince Berlick thought for a minute before responding. Even though he had no real reason to trust the enchanter, he realized the enchanter was right. Buried deep in Berlick’s memories, he could see images of the sword on ancient tapestries, and he could picture the old scrolls in his grandfather’s library.

Why did I not understand that sword my father gave me?

The enchanter said, “Be not downcast, Prince. Yer father is more to blame than ye. He should’ve trained you, not me.”

“But I want you to train me now.”

“I will, but I also warn ye. The journey will not be a pleasant one. But if you learn Sacred’s ways, you will wield her more powerfully, more effectively than any knight has since her forging.”

Prince Berlick stepped closer to the enchanter. “I believe you, but I don’t understand. How can a sword be used, if not for slicing, stabbing, parrying, hacking?”

“You will learn soon. But first, we must return to Vaamtomae. You’ve missed much these past months.”

“Wait…how long have I been missing? My father must be worried sick.”

“Not worried sick, but sick nonetheless. If we hurry, we can save him.” The enchanter walked towards the door at the end of the room, which opened at his approach.

Prince Berlick followed into a stone hallway. Torchlight illuminated a long line of doors on both sides of the hall. “How long has he been sick? He’s always been strong against disease in the past.”

“Your father is not invincible, Berlick, and this is more serious than the past,” the enchanter said, throwing his hood over his head. They followed a door into what appeared to be an inn’s tavern. “We are in Elsanstrance, and I believe a two days’ ride from your father’s palace. I have the horses ready out front. We must leave immediately.”

They exited the inn and Berlick saw the horses tied to a post. “Enchanter, should I be worried? Before I get on that horse, I need you to tell me everything I missed.”

He peeked his gaze out from beneath his hood and looked directly at Berlick. “We don’t have time for me to give you every detail. Worry is not helpful, but haste will be. I can tell you this: In the seven months of your absence, a deadly, highly contagious disease has ravaged Vaamtomae. Many have died already. If we don’t get to him soon, your father will join their ranks.”

Satisfied for the moment, Prince Berlick mounted one of the horses and followed the enchanter down the road towards Vaamtomae. They rode nonstop into the night and finally stopped at an inn on the crossroads between several nearby kingdoms.

The enchanter talked to the inn keeper, paid for their rooms, and then stood with Prince Berlick at the bonfire the innkeeper had just stoked.

Mesmerized by the fire, Prince Berlick didn’t even look at the enchanter when he spoke. “Enchanter, please tell me: How afraid do I need to be?”

“Not afraid. Just urgent.”

“If it's urgent, why did we stop and not press through for as long as we could?”

“The horses needed to rest, and so do we. The innkeeper will bring us some of the leftover food he’d made for the other guests, and then we should sleep until dawn. Trust me: we’ll get there quicker this way. How are you feeling?”

“I’m still a little stiff, but that shouldn’t be a surprise.” He laughed.

The enchanter said, “While we wait, I want to help you understand Sacred.” He held the sword out to Berlick.

Berlick carefully took the sword by the hilt and examined it. “So…it’s a real sword, right?”

The enchanter nodded.

“It looks sharp…but it’s not supposed to cut?”

“It’s not supposed to shed blood, hurt, or tear down in any way.”

Berlick said, “So, if I were to stab you, what would happen?”

“It wouldn’t work. The magic imbued in the sword from its forging won’t allow it to hurt or kill.”

Berlick smiled. “I guess that’s why dad recommended to use my other blades more often. I assumed it was just because Sacred was of a decorative quality of which it would be a shame to tarnish it.”

“The sword called Sacred can never be tarnished—only the one who wields her foolishly.”

“I think I’m beginning to understand. If I take this sharp blade and swung it at this tree, would it leave a mark on the tree?”

“It would probably strengthen the tree and its roots, and the tree would last much longer than its contemporaries.”

Prince Berlick said, “What if I strike this bonfire? Will the sword strengthen the fire and hurt the wood, or would it strengthen and regrow the wood whilst smothering the fire?”

Enchanter smiled. “Very thoughtful question. The fire would be strengthened in its purpose to warm those who need it, but the wood would not be further consumed, and the fire would not hurt anyone seeking its warmth.”

“Sacred has that kind of power?”

“All from the magic of its forging. If you’re not using the blade constructively or compassionately, you’re better off not using it.”

The innkeeper brought them each a bowl of stew. As he started to walk away, he tripped on a stick and tumbled next to the fire, and his arm landed in the fire.

He screamed out and rolled away, but flames still covered his arm. 

The enchanter rushed over and swung Sacred over the man’s arm. The sword sang and seemed to cut the flames from the innkeeper’s arm. The flames gathered together and slithered away, disappearing into the bonfire. 

Enchanter hovered the sword over the wound for a few moments longer, and Sacred glowed and hummed, and soon, the innkeeper laughed.

“Thank you, kind sir!” He hugged the enchanter. “Enchanter, you will always be welcome to stay here, anytime, free of charge.”

They chatted and ate for a few more minutes, but Berlick couldn’t stop thinking about the sword stopping the fire. The prince examined the innkeeper’s limb, and no evidence of the fire remained in his arm or clothing.

When the innkeeper finally left them and they headed towards their rooms, Berlick looked at the enchanter and asked, “How did you do that? Will you really train me to use Sacred more effectively than that?”

“Wielding Sacred isn’t difficult, if ye use her as she’s designed to be used.”

“How do I know anything I do fits that design? I know, I know, it’s not for bloodshed…but there’s a lot of area in between. How do I get the magic to do what I want it to do?”

The enchanter stopped at his door. “The sword sings, Prince Berlick. Listen to her.”

“But, but—”

“Do ye know why I refer to Sacred as a ‘her’? Swords be technically inanimate, definitely sexless, but I say her. Why do I do that?”

The prince stammered, “I-I, I don’t—”

“The magic imbued in Sacred gives her the nature of the one who forged her. The nature, and therefore the personality. The longer you hold her, listen to her, and get to know her, the more effective you will be in wielding her.”

With those parting words swimming in his head, Prince Berlick attempted to sleep.

Dawn came quickly, and soon they were back on their horses racing towards the king’s castle.

As they rode, Berlick was lost in thought. Even after having months to ponder it, the prince still didn’t know why he’d attacked that knight. One moment he was hunted the red rabbit, and the next he was engaged in the most intense duel of his life. Then, after seeing the enchanter use the sword and after hearing about her true nature, Berlick came to a realization.

I’m not worthy of her. I can never use Sacred the way she was meant to be used.

Berlick knew he wanted to help his father and do whatever he could to save the kingdom from this disease, but he also knew, for the good of himself and the kingdom, he himself should never hold the sword again.

Once father’s well, the enchanter will leave with the blade as his reward.

They finally arrived at the city, and Berlick could see the castle looming up ahead. 

A few minutes later, their horses came to a halt at the drawbridge—shattered with pieces of wood and stone floating in the moat ten yards below.

The sight stunned Berlick. “How…how did this happen?”

“The disease is a monster. Did you notice we saw nobody our entire time riding through the city? My guess is yer father’s guards destroyed the bridge themselves to isolate the king and maintain hope for his recovery in isolation.”

“If he’s in isolation, how do we get to him? We’ve come so far.” The prince held back tears as he looked over the broken bridge. No people stood on the other side of the chasm, no people anywhere. He could picture his father, alone and dying…

The enchanter put a hand on Berlick’s shoulder. “We’re not too late, but we must hurry. Do not fear, but be vigilant.”

Prince Berlick nodded and reassessed their options. “If you want to swim, I know a passage from the moat that leads to the laundry channel, which also leads to the wine cellar. It would take us awhile to get inside and would require the breaking of many doors.”

The enchanter said, “No time. We must use the main entrance.”

“There’s no way we can make that jump, unless you have some more magic I don’t know about.”

The enchanter smiled. “Actually, I think we oughta use the magic ye do know about.” He drew Sacred from its sheath and tapped the blade on a broken stone piece of bridge still balanced on the ledge at their feet.

The rock glowed, and Sacred started to hum. The enchanter waved the sword over the moat, and the shards, splinters, and chains of the drawbridge arose from the moat and began reforming. In a matter of minutes, the bridge was not only fixed, but it looked more pristine than Berlick had ever remembered it. 

“Incredible,” he whispered.

They remounted the horses and charged across the bridge through the courtyard. At the end of the courtyard, they found the large, oaken door locked and barricaded in place with black iron bars.

Berlick said, “My father thought he’d never have to use the full security measures. This is impossible to penetrate.”

“Sacred is for healing, and healing restores. How do you restore a locked door?”

Berlick looked at the enchanter’s grin as the enchanter lifted the sword and stabbed the door. Once again, Sacred shook and sang a melody, and the bars unlocked and moved away from the door, and the door lifted open to its normal station.

Prince Berlick said, “Follow me,” and sprinted through the castle towards the king’s quarters. As he ran, he did see a few people in the king’s court and in the halls, but he didn’t stop long enough to even see if they were still living. 

Finally, they burst into the royal bedroom, and Prince Belrick tore the curtains from around the bed.

The king was covered in red spots, and some blood trailed from his eyes and nose. Berlick calmed himself enough to check for a pulse.

“He’s alive, thank God. Can you help him, Enchanter?”

The enchanter held the sword out to Berlick. “She’s your blade, and he’s your father. It must be you.”

“I’m not strong enough. You are the effective one who knows her. It should be you.”

“No, Prince. I’m not strong enough. Sacred is even stronger when held by a noble prince of royal blood, the blood of the one who forged it. Only you are strong enough to break this disease. Elsewise, I would’ve come here to do it myself while you were trapped in the mirror. And I only kept you in the mirror as long as you needed me to. Any less time, you wouldn’t have been ready to admit your faults and hold the sword of your destiny.”

The enchanter pressed the sword into Berlick’s hand, and the prince gripped it with a shaky grasp. 

Berlick looked at the sword and looked at his father, and he said, “Okay, Sacred. Tell me what to do.”

The sword began to hum a tone. Berlick moved the blade closer to his father, and Sacred’s hum turned into a singing melody. The sword seemed to pull Berlick closer to his father until the sword’s tip hovered over the king’s head. Finally, Berlick touched the sword to his father’s face, and bright tendrils of harmonic magic sprung from the sword and embraced the king.

A few moments later, the king gasped. Berlick dropped the sword and moved to his father’s side. 

“Are you okay? How do you feel?”

In a raspy voice, the king said, “I feel…revived. Thank you, son.”

After talking for a few more minutes, the enchanter encouraged Berlick to search the palace for any more living people, and that night, they had a modest, joyful dinner in a near-empty castle in the silent city.

After dinner, and after the king went to bed, Prince Berlick sat with the enchanter at the king’s fireplace. 

“Enchanter…I want you to take Sacred. You will wield her better than I. I am learning, but I don’t think I’ll every truly be worthy.”

The enchanter said, “It’s not about worthiness. It’s about knowing the sword and her magic’s nature. You must take it. You are the rightful owner.”

Berlick nodded.

“Besides,” the enchanter said, “you’re not done saving the kingdom. Only Sacred can eradicate the disease. The kingdom is ravaged and you and your father may need to rely on help from Elsanstrance for a while, but there are some survivors. And there are some infected who you still have time to save.”

Berlick said, “Where must I go to kill the disease and save those still living?”

“The disease has mostly done its damage throughout the kingdom, but there is one place where it is strong. Villa Apsconditum.”

“Isn’t that Count Nicolae Kane’s summer home? Does he live?”

“No. The count foolishly hosted a masquerade to gather his friends in the noble class and to hide from the disease. Instead of finding ways to help the peasants and merchants, they gathered together to wait it out. The disease found them, and most are dead. We must confront the disease there and save the survivors.”

“Do we know who the survivors are?”

“Yes. I’ve sensed them with my magic. A doctor and a sage. They are infected, but they fled Nicolae’s manor just in time to survive. After you destroy the disease, we must find them and return to Elsanstrance.”

Prince Berlick scowled. “Why Elsanstrance? I’ve only just returned.”

“More danger is on the horizon. Vaamtomae will rebuild and be a strong kingdom again one day, but it will be a long road spanning multiple generations. We can’t let Elsanstrance suffer a similar fate.”

Berlick sighed. “Then we have little choice in the matter.”

“Indeed. I can sense you still doubt yourself. You don’t have much practice with Sacred, and you don’t know her well yet.” 

He looked into Berlick’s eyes and continued, “In the coming days, we will face much danger, but I can guarantee one thing about Sacred. If you continue to listen, her voice will be closer than your own.”