Chapter 1

Naomi awoke in the dead of night as she usually did. She sighed, turning over to get comfortable, and waited for drowsiness to come. After several minutes she turned the other way, aware of a growing feeling of unease. Something didn’t seem right, though she had no idea where the feeling came from or what it might mean. She glanced around her small home, the moon through the window illuminating enough for her to see nothing was amiss. She slipped from bed, pulled on her training clothes, and went outside.

The crisp night air and gentle breeze helped ease Naomi’s nerves, but she forced herself to stay vigilant. Sir Bogart, the village protector and her instructor, had told her enough times to trust her first instinct. Danger appeared in many forms and trusting herself to recognize it was imperative to the protector of the village. So, she stood at her door and carefully took in her surroundings. In front of her was Tamin’s main road which wound towards town square, and on the other side of the road was a grassy field. Crickets chirped from the small training yard next to her house and an owl hooted from a tree somewhere behind her. It seemed like a perfectly peaceful night.

Naomi started to feel foolish. She gazed at the grass across the road, watching as it flowed in breeze and starting to feel sleepiness creep up on her, when she noticed a small area where the grass didn’t move the same. It could have been a rock, but Naomi had looked at that view almost every day of her life and she could swear there was no rock in that spot. It was possible that a person or animal was in the grass, and if so, they probably wouldn’t move while she stood there and stared. Going into the grass when she couldn’t see what was there seemed like a good way to get injured if it was something like a boar or a bandit. She stretched nonchalantly and decided she should pretend not to notice. She went to the training yard, picked up her practice staff, and started doing drills. Naomi had worked off insomnia in that way many times in the past, so the motions were familiar, but there was a nervous energy in her that she hoped wouldn’t be apparent.

As she went through her drills, Naomi tried to keep an eye on the suspicious patch of grass. The drills hardly required thought, and she was able to glance over often. Step, swing, lift, glance. Spin, step, pivot, glance. Shift weight to the other foot, step, pivot, step again, swing, shift weight again…

Naomi suddenly realized she had gotten so absorbed in the mechanics of her drills that she had forgotten to check on the grass in almost a minute. She looked over, dropping her training staff on the ground, but she couldn’t remember exactly where it had been. She cursed at herself and ran down to the road, then looked around trying to spot something, anything. The feeling of danger started to bubble up in her again, and she had to take a deep breath and remind herself of what Bogart had taught her: only a clear, unhurried mind can perceive the truth of something or other. Naomi was having difficulty maintaining a clear enough mind to even remember that lesson clearly; she felt much too alarmed. She forced another deep breath and decided she had seen whatever was in the grass moving ever so slowly to her right before she lost it, so she went in that direction, towards the town square.

The village was swaddled in a heavy silence. It seemed like even the crickets had decided to be quiet. Occasionally, she thought she saw something move up ahead, darting between buildings. Naomi jogged up to where she saw the movement and looked around, but nothing was there. Then she would see movement up ahead and jog over again. This repeated until Naomi found herself leaving town and going towards the fields, but before the fields there was the Cave.

The Cave didn’t have a proper name that Naomi knew. She didn’t remember anyone ever speaking of it directly, but somehow she knew that it was called the Cave and that no one was supposed to enter. As ominous and foreboding as it was regarded, it didn’t look like much: a gaping slash in a hillside with a heavy iron gate barring entry. But that gate, Naomi noticed, was ajar. Had the source of the danger she felt come from the Cave? Had it gone into the Cave? She turned away, feeling dread at even being near the Cave in the middle of the night, but she simultaneously felt a pull towards the Cave. She turned back towards it indecisively and saw someone dart through the gate and into the Cave’s entrance.

“Hey!” Naomi called. “Don’t—” But the person, who to Naomi resembled an assortment of dirty clothes more than anything else, had already vanished. Naomi found herself running into the Cave after them. Whether it was for duty, curiosity, or the excitement of adventure, she didn’t know. But she felt the feeling of being pulled towards the Cave acutely, even though she still felt the overwhelming danger coming from it.

The entrance to the Cave was entirely dark, but Naomi saw a faint bit of light coming from what looked like a smaller tunnel tucked away in a corner. She wanted to grip her training staff for reassurance, but she realized she somehow forgot it back at her training yard. She sighed softly as she crept over to the passage. It was the kind of thing she was prone to doing and Sir Bogart would scold her when she did, saying the consequences could be dire. And now Naomi did see how he was correct, not that she could really help it; she was forgetful, and it was too late to go back.

The passage was lit with wall torches and sloped steeply downward. A cold draft came from the passage, the kind of cold that cut the bone like a knife, but the torches didn’t seem to flicker at all. Naomi began descending, wondering how the torches stayed so steady. Soon she came out to where the passage opened into a large room, hewn out of rock by who knew how many hands over who knew how many years.

The room was mostly empty, with a raised platform and what looked like a stone coffin at the wall to Naomi’s left. The torches which did not flicker were along these walls too, and on the other side of the room there was a dark, gaping doorway. Someone in a dirty brown robe that covered them almost from head to toe was standing in the middle of the room. They were muttering to themselves, but Naomi could only catch a few words. She heard, “Where is it?” and, “Further down…” and, “Glaive.”

Naomi approached and said, “Who are you? What are you doing here?” The person whirled around, and Naomi saw the face of a girl maybe a few years older with large, wide-set eyes and a wide mouth that seemed stuck in a permanent smirk.

“Uh oh, busted,” the girl said. “I don’t suppose you want to go back to bed?”

Naomi looked at the girl grimly. “I’ll ask again, as apprentice protector, what are you doing here?”

The girl’s smirk expanded into a grin. “Apprentice, huh? I think I can handle that,” she said and darted forward.

Naomi fought the instinctive urge to tense her body and instead shifted her weight to her back foot while she tried to take in as much information as she could in the moment she had. The girl’s robe covered her hands, which to Naomi meant hidden weapons were likely. Keeping her distance would be best in that case. But the girl was charging recklessly, and Naomi saw an opportunity to end the encounter at once. She stepped forward into the charge and caught the girl in the middle of her chest with an open-palmed strike. The girl gasped as the blow knocked her back and dropped a weapon from each hand, but as she hit the ground she somehow rolled and twisted to end up on her feet.

“Apprentice!” she exclaimed. “If you’re an apprentice, I’m the Creator.” She turned and ran for the doorway on the far side of the room. As she entered torches lit up, revealing a descending passage much like the first one.

Naomi shook her hand out, wincing at the sudden, smarting pain. She had struck a metal plate of some sort that was concealed under the girl’s robe. She picked up one of the weapons that the girl dropped, a stick with a perpendicular handle. When she held the handle, the stick rested against her forearm. It seemed like a weapon made entirely for self-defense, so she thought whoever the girl was and whatever she wanted, she at least wasn’t a killer.

Naomi crossed the room and followed the girl down the passage. The air felt somehow colder as she descended, and the torches still stayed rock steady in the slight draft. At the bottom was a room like the one above, but instead of a stone coffin there was a stone altar. The girl was standing in front of the altar looking surprised.

“It’s not here,” she almost whispered, then turned to Naomi. “Why isn’t it here?”

“Why isn’t what here?” Naomi was exasperated. First this girl was trying to fight her, now she looked like she was going to start weeping on her shoulder. “Who are you?”

The girl sighed. “Micki. I’m a—” she paused. “I’m a treasure hunter.”

“A thief you mean.” Naomi scowled. “Or a grave robber.”

Micki shrugged. “Let’s not get caught up in semantics. Where is the Glaive of Hope?”

“The Glaive of—” Naomi laughed. “It doesn’t exist.”

“Nonsense. It must exist. My informant doesn’t lie. It lies beneath this very village and offers protection to it.”

“Sir Bogart protects this village, not fanciful tales. A flesh and blood man.”

Micki frowned and rubber her nose. “This just doesn’t make sense.” She approached the altar and looked at it intently. “Doesn’t it seem like something should go here?”

“Maybe another grave robber took it already.” Naomi was losing her patience. She needed to get this thief out of the Cave. She knew she could overpower her and drag her out, but it would be better if it didn’t have to come to that. But before Naomi could make any sort of move, Micki made an aha noise and started rubbing her hands on the altar as if she was searching for something. “What are you doing?” Naomi snapped.

“There’s an indent here,” Micki said, prodding at the top of the altar. “And here too. There must have been something here, and I would guess recently with how little dust there is.”

“I don’t care, we need to—” Naomi was cut off by a rumbling noise from above, which was followed by a heavy thud. Micki looked panicked, but Naomi ignored her and pressed herself against the wall next to the doorway. She listened intently for a moment and thought she might have heard a shuffling noise. “We need to leave,” she whispered.

Micki moved her mouth wordlessly and then bolted, rushing past Naomi and up the passage. Naomi moved to follow her, not wanting her to get away, and was nearly knocked over when Micki bumped into her coming back down. “There’s something up there,” she whispered. The shuffling noise had resolved itself into scraping footsteps coming down the passage. Naomi stepped to the middle of the room so she wouldn’t be cornered. The dread she felt since arriving at the Cave was settling itself into the pit of her stomach, but she tried to ignore it as she waited for whoever or whatever was coming to appear.

What did appear was a tall, well-muscled person wearing plain linen clothes and a mask shaped like a crab. It looked to be made of wood and was painted a vibrant red, with a something yellow down the middle of it. Naomi was so taken aback by the mask she almost didn’t notice the fire the person held until they flung it at her. She dove for the ground, grabbing Micki on the way and dragging her down too. The fireball sailed over them and landed on the ground where it happily smoldered and sputtered and gave off some much welcome warmth. Naomi didn’t have much time to think, but she knew the masked person seemed hostile and Micki wouldn’t be much use in a fight, so she shoved herself up and circled around the person, hoping to draw their attention. The person turned towards her, and Naomi noticed the yellow thing was an object attached to the mask. It looked like a golden shaft with a short, curved blade. Naomi wasn’t sure how she had missed it at first, but it struck her now as an odd addition to the outfit, though probably no odder than the crab mask itself.

With Naomi and the masked person engaged in a sort of stand-off, Micki decided she had the perfect opportunity to escape. She crept to her feet and leapt for the doorway. But the masked person heard her coming and, though he had been moving slowly and ponderously before, suddenly hopped in front of her with alarming agility. They swung one of their meaty fists and caught Micki in the abdomen, lifting her off her feet and sending her sprawling.

Naomi gritted her teeth. The masked person turned and lunged at her with arms spread wide to grab her. She ducked under their grasp and stepped back, unsure of how to approach. The masked person reared their right arm back, and Naomi was barely able to sidestep the straight punch aimed at her. As the massive fist whooshed past her head, she stepped forward and repeated the palm strike which had bowled Micki over on the floor above, but she may as well have been hitting a stone wall for all the good it did. The dread in Naomi’s stomach began traveling to her limbs, making them start to shake. She tried to put distance between them, but the masked person lunged forward again and caught her arm in an inhumanly strong grip. She stared at the crab mask, noticing she couldn’t see the eyes behind it. She thought how absurd it was that this would be the last thing she saw.

“Twice in one Destroyer-damned day!” Micki yelled angrily. She was on her feet and struggling with something on her shoulder under her robe. Suddenly a heavy iron breastplate fell out of the bottom of the robe and clanked loudly on the ground. “And you dented it, you dumb freak! What kind of moron wears a crab mask anyway?”

The masked person turned to Micki while keeping a hold on Naomi and raised their other hand. Fire sprang from their palm. “Oh no you don’t,” Micki said she scooped up the breastplate, then swung as hard as she could while the masked person threw the fire at her. She caught the fireball in the curved hollow of the breastplate and flung it back into the masked person’s face. They immediately let go of Naomi and fell back, clutching at the burning mask as if they were trying to remove it but couldn’t. They didn’t make any noise, which somehow unnerved Naomi more than if they had screamed.

Naomi wasn’t sure why she rushed to the masked person’s side to help, but she suddenly found herself grabbing at whatever part of the mask wasn’t on fire yet and pulling. For all the trouble the person was having, the mask came off shockingly easily, and when it did the person immediately went limp as if all the strings holding them up were cut. Micki stumbled over to them, rubbing the spot just above her belly where she had been hit, to see what their assailant looked like. She stopped short as she saw they were an impossibly beautiful boy with high cheekbones and a Cupid’s lyre mouth. His face was somehow unmarred by the burning mask, and when he opened his eyes, they were a vibrant shade of amber. Micki felt her face heat up a little and she looked away.

“Who are you and why did you attack us?” Naomi asked. She didn’t seem to be affected by the boy’s appearance, and Micki scuffed her foot on the ground in frustration.

“My name is Henry, and I guard the Glaive of Hope,” he said.

Micki yelped in glee and knelt next to him. “And where is the Glaive kept?” she asked with shining eyes.

Henry looked at the empty altar for a moment, then turned to Micki with a helpless expression. Micki sat back and sighed.

“No one is supposed to enter the Cave, and the Glaive of Hope is a myth,” Naomi said matter-of-factly. “Why did you really attack us?”

Henry pointed the helpless expression at her. “I, I don’t remember,” he stammered. “I’m supposed to guard the Glaive of Hope. Did I fail?”

Naomi couldn’t imagine anyone getting past such a guardian, so she shrugged. “I don’t know. Where are you from? Who gave you that order?”

Henry looked at the ground. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything except that my name is Henry and I’m supposed to guard the Glaive of Hope.”

“What about this?” Micki asked, standing up and trotting to the ruined remains of the mask. The golden shaft lay in the middle of the smoldering wood, still somehow shining pristinely. Micki prodded it with her boot until it was clear of the mask then looked at it in surprise. She bent down and gingerly touched it. It was as cold as the rest of the room, if not colder. She grabbed it and showed it to Henry.

“Ah, the Glaive of Hope,” he said, taking it from her. “It’s broken.”

(Hello, it’s me. This isn’t meddling. I know it’s odd speaking to a reader directly, but I want to let you know it will be necessary for me to do it from time to time anyway. It seems unlikely now, but these three young people will soon embark on a quest to retrieve the broken pieces of the Glaive of Hope and reunite them, changing the world in the process. And, perhaps equally unlikely, your involvement will be crucial. But you will have to wait to see how. I would be a poor narrator indeed to give it away here and now. All you need to do is continue reading.)