Chapter 15: The Shroud Speaks
“Turn around, Ronan,” Maritza instructed, "and relax. It'll be hard for Farrier's magic to make the marking if you're tense."
Ronan turned around and dropped his arms by his side. Farrier set two burly hands on Ronan's shoulders.
“Do you feel the Essence flowing through you?” Farrier asked. He prepared to imbue Ronan with the Mark of the Butterfly.
Ronan fixed his attention on the feeling at his fingertips. His forearm still burned from casting the white flames, though the black veins had retreated, and only Alfred had noticed them.
“I think I can feel the Essence,” Ronan mumbled.
Farrier belted out a big laugh that startled Ronan.
“Look around you boy!” Farrier exclaimed.
A stream of black wisps circled around Ronan’s body. Similarly, Essence the same cobalt color as Alfred’s eyes wrapped around the arrogant, smiling Nightblade. The Trainees watching gasped and whispered about Ronan’s black Essence, diverting any attention away from Alfred’s achievements and only to Ronan. When each Trainee had completed a trial or challenge, they’d seen their colorful and robust Essence mark their progress towards their next rank—
Never had they seen black Essence before, and the very sight of it was enough to convince some that Ronan was evil. Or, at the very least, wildly different than themselves.
“The Shroud,” Maritza whispered.
She’d been so careful to train alone so that nobody saw her own black Essence form from her curse. She knew this public display would make Ronan an outcast, but at least she now confirmed Farrier’s news that there was another like her.
Suddenly, she didn’t feel so alone in the world anymore.
Ronan heard her mention The Shroud and shot her a glance, though he didn’t look for long. He didn’t want her to know that he knew her secret, as much as he wanted to question her about The Shroud and his abilities.
“Will you look at that,” Farrier said. The Black Essence danced around Ronan, and Farrier let go of his shoulders. “No matter how hard I try to make it appear, your Mark of the Butterfly isn’t forming on your back. I’ve never seen such a thing.”
Alfred’s cobalt Essence swirled around him, then entered his butterfly tattoo. Beneath his three tally marks, a small bar etched itself magically onto his back. More ink filled nearly half the bar.
“And Alfred,” Farrier said, proud that he’d gotten Alfred to get his head out from his ass for at least a moment to pass the trial, “looks like you’re halfway to Rank 4. Congratulations. When you reach Rank 4, you'll be advanced from a Trainee to a Novice, and you’ll gain the power to move your body at incredible speeds.”
Farrier would’ve continued his praises and proud explanations, except he glimpsed at Ronan’s marking. Black veins were forming on the Nightblade’s forearm, and even more curiously, so was a set of butterfly wings. As if being drawn and colored in by an invisible black quill, the butterfly wings formed around the neck of the snake.
Black Essence filled a bar beneath the stomach of Ronan’s serpent marking, and a tally mark formed, strong and bold. Right beside the butterfly wings, another tally formed, then a flurry of black sparks erupted from Ronan’s markings.
“Two ranks at the same time,” Farrier mumbled, patting a hand to his wavy red hair. “This child is special.”
Ronan gleamed at the compliment. Raw power surged through the black veins on his forearm, and he held his hand outwards. White embers blazed on his fingertips.
“What in the name of The Heavens is he?” A Trainee in the observing crowd asked.
Alfred clenched a fist, embarrassed that Ronan was being afforded more attention than him. Aside from Farrier, nobody had even congratulated him on his new rank! Alfred was so used to having an audience that his resentment for Ronan stiffened his brow and body. Alfred felt like jumping on top of Ronan and strangling him.
“Why is his Mark of the Butterfly on his arm?” a second Trainee with a beautiful voice asked. It was Freya, and her big brown braid bounced against her back as she ran to Alfred’s side. Normally, Freya’s presence would cheer Alfred up, but Alfred was too angry to care.
Alfred shrugged Freya away then said, “There’s something very wrong with Ronan. Black Essence. White flames. He’s not right.”
As Alfred spoke, he tried to rile the other Trainees to his side, though they were far too interested in Ronan’s double rank progression to be bothered. For the first time, Alfred’s loudmouthed insults fell flat, and the Trainees had a new fascination to focus on. For once, there was something more impressive to them than Alfred.
Alfred shoved a finger out towards Ronan and as loud as he could said, “There’s something terribly wrong with him! Just look at his markings!”
Ike clobbered beside Ronan with his wooden crutch.
“I actually think it looks pretty cool!” Ike said boyishly, lifting his hand off his crutch to inspect Ronan’s markings. Ike lost his balance, but Ronan caught him by the collar of his white shirt. Trainees whispered to themselves, and again Alfred’s insults fell by the wayside. He couldn’t believe that not only did the Trainees not have his side, Ronan himself was unaffected by the nasty words. The entire event made Alfred feel so lowly and pathetic he wanted to feel big again and squash Ronan under his boot.
Shaking with fury and upset that he hadn’t gotten the reactions he wanted, Alfred stomped away. He pledged to hunt Ronan down and prove that Alfred of Augustate was indeed the top Nightblade, and would be the name to be passed down on people’s tongues for generations to come.
Ronan laughed silently to himself, and watched Alfred storm out from the Training Grounds. He hoped that Alfred would find peace in himself, otherwise Ronan predicted that Alfred would grow to be quite the unpleasant man.
But there were more important things than Alfred at the moment.
Ronan could swear that Maritza was studying him, and felt her gaze on his body. He smiled at her, hoping she might return the gesture.
“Alright,” Farrier said with a thunderous clap. “Very good! Now Ronan, you are to come with me. There’s much to be done at the forge and you need to earn some money for lodging. Trainees! Lady Maritza will continue your lessons today.”
Farrier dragged Ronan to the forge, and Ronan’s feet kicked up dirt as the two sped away.
When they were alone and at the smoking forge, Ronan asked, “Master Farrier, how did you know I’d find a way to make the jump?”
Farrier’s laugh echoed in the forge. “I had no clue, Ronan! But if you were to fall or be in any danger, Maritza and I would’ve saved you, as we did with Ike. You would’ve gotten a minor injury like his, but nothing a little rest couldn’t repair.”
Ronan ran a hand down his new markings. He felt an intense pride. Finally, he’d earned his first Serpent Rank, along with a new Nightblade marking and a rank in Butterfly! It was so incredible it was nearly unreal, and he went to pinch himself to ensure that he wasn’t dreaming.
But he was beaten to it by the black metal necklace. It pinched the skin over his heart, and Ronan closed his hand around it. When he did, it was as though he was hearing the whispers of a hundred voices, and he was completely overwhelmed.
“What’s wrong with you?” Farrier asked.
Ronan clenched the black metal in one hand and checked the forearm with his markings. The mysterious Runes were back and glowing in a black light, waltzing on his skin amidst the rippling black veins.
The Runes were an assortment of ancient symbols, and Ronan recognized one or two from books he’d studied.
Still, he could somehow read the Runes clear as day, and they said: “Will you accept us? Will you take on the Shroud System?”
As Ronan read and deciphered the runes, he heard the whispers of a hundred muddled voices repeat what the Runes said to him.
“I accept,” Ronan said, feeling woozy. For a second, he felt like he was floating over himself, looking down at his confused body clutching the black metal.
The Runes twisted and spun into a new formation on his arm.
“If you want our gift, turn the Hellsworn metal into a sword,” the Runes whispered to him.
Farrier got close to Ronan and asked again, “Are you okay? What is the Shroud telling you?”
Ronan’s eyes snapped open, and although only Farrier saw, Ronan’s eyes were an intense void of black. They quickly faded and returned to normal.
“The Shroud told me to turn this metal into a sword,” Ronan said. “It spoke to me as if it were a collection of voices.”
Farrier fixed his hair with a big hand and replied, “That’s how The Shroud communicates, through all the damned souls that the curse has taken before you.”
With one firm tug, Farrier removed Ronan’s necklace. He inspected the metal.
“I suppose I might be able to fix this into a sword’s center,” Farrier said. “In the meantime, you need to rest and recharge your Essence. Sit in the corner and meditate. You know how to meditate, don’t you? Focus on your breathing and let your mind travel freely. Wherever it takes you, sit with those images.”
Ronan chuckled, “Sounds strange, but I’ll give it a shot.”
He sat in the corner of the forge away from the smoke, and he closed his eyes. His mind wandered almost immediately, and he let the loud thuds of Farrier pounding metal with a hammer serve as a relaxing metronome for his thoughts.
Soon, the image of Maritza entered Ronan’s mind. She stood tall, proud, and strong, and her curly blonde ponytail whipped from a powerful wind. Her father’s thin sword was clenched in her hands, and she stood beside Ronan, his own sword drawn, against the beckoning roar of a colossal monster. Black veins ran along Ronan’s left arm and up the right side of Maritza’s gorgeous face.
Then Ronan awoke from his meditation.
It was night at the forge, and there were no Trainees in Training Grounds. Farrier approached him, wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve, and handed him a freshly smelted sword.
The sword was completely black, as though the small piece of Hellsworn metal had been reshaped into a big, bastard blade. A spike sat at each side of the sword’s hilt, and at the bottom of the sword’s spherical pommel was the round Hellsworn metal.
“When I embedded that piece of metal into the sword,” Farrier said, huffing with exhaustion, “the entire sword became black.”
The Master’s eyes sharpened, and he took up his serious tone as he said, “I would urge you to be careful with that weapon, Ronan.”
Ronan accepted the sword, and his Essence shot out from his markings and took the form of many black serpents and butterflies. The magical symbols spiraled around the blade, and Runes ran along its sharp center.
Ronan felt the progress bars under his markings begin to fill, and then he lost all his energy. The hundred voices of The Shroud were screaming in his ear to a deafening degree. He clutched the Hellsword tightly, and the black butterflies and snakes made of Ronan’s Essence shrieked, then faded away.
“Do you accept us?” The voices of The Shroud shouted so loud that Ronan’s bones shook.
Ronan's head felt like it was splitting into three.
Still, he managed to grit his teeth and scream, “Yes!”
The shouting from The Shroud grew even louder, but died off instantly a second later.
Ronan stumbled, and in a blurry haze saw dozens of Runes running along his sword.
A moment after, he was flat on his back and on the ground. Farrier stood over him, shouting for him to wake up, but Ronan passed out despite Farrier’s best efforts.