Dead King's Sword (Old Draft)

47. Journey

"Zeren...."

I had fallen asleep on the couch in the living room after dinner. Stirring awake, I removed the book covering my head and blinked to clear my vision. "Dad? Did you just get home?" I asked, taking in his concerned expression. He had lost some weight; his cheekbones were leaner. His coarse black hair was still short, but now he had stubble scattered along his jaw. He held a box wrapped with a red ribbon, a small smile on his lips.

I sat up and accepted the gift, quickly removing the ribbon. Inside the box lay a dagger with a black handle and a bluish silver blade. He had gotten me a toy?

I stared at him; my left brow raised. I had sort of outgrown playing with swords, but I supposed I could keep it on my dresser as a decoration.

Dad smiled. "I stole it," he whispered.

"From the store?"

He shook his head. "From your mother's father." He chuckled. "It's supposed to increase your magic by two-fold."

I hadn't seen my mother's parents since a year after she left.

I touched the blade; it felt cool against my fingertips. "You didn't steal this," I told him. My father was an angel; he never stole, never broke the law. He was the most honest person I knew. But now that I thought about it, I remembered an identical dagger hanging over my grandfather's fireplace.

My father chuckled softly and then, sitting on the black carpet by my feet, leaned his head against my knee. "I do bad things too. You're not the only mischievous one in this family. Hell, your youngest sister tried to convince her teacher that she hadn't skipped classes and had gone to school, but no one had seen her because she was invisible. It turns out that after I walked her to the bus stop every morning, she would wait for me to leave, then walk back home and crawl into bed. She did that for a week before one of the neighbours ratted her out."

I laughed, imagining Megu tucked into bed while the bus drove off. Megu was pretty but very soft-spoken and shy, so we folded easily to her and gave her whatever she wanted. I imagined her explaining how she had been at school but invisible so no one could see her, in her childish voice, and laughed again.

My father chuckled softly. "It's been a crazy year, you know?"

"Yeah."

"I was going to save the dagger till your graduation, but now seems as good a time as any."

"Thank you. I really appreciate this. I can't believe you stole it."

"I wanted to prove something to myself; your mother's family always looked down on me; they thought I would hold her back and chain her to the lower middle class forever. I told myself that if I could steal this dagger from right under their eyes, my future would be open and free. Limitless. I could do anything I put my mind to."

I smiled.

My father added, "Just don't let anyone from your mother's side of the family see it, or they might take you to court."

"I'll keep it well hidden."

My father removed a flask from the pocket of his blazer and took a sip. He watched his reflection on the tinted screen of the TV in front of us. "My mother used to say that black magi are weak because we lost contact with our ancestors. And when you turn your back on the spirits, they turn their back on you.

"In your great-grandfather's time, witches, once they hit puberty, would go on a journey into the wild. And the hardships brought them closer to their ancestors. The deities that governed the world. After struggling and being left near dead, starved, and thirsty, the child, being half-dead and half-living, would contact their ancestors.

"The spirits would then read the child's soul and give them a task. If the child passed their test, their core would be strengthened. If not, they journeyed home as they were before; some died on their way back. Others lived. I have always dreamed of going on a journey like that, getting a larger core, proving my enemies wrong, but time passed quickly, and before I knew it, I was old and had children to take care of.

"But you're different. You're young, stubborn, and have no responsibilities to distract you from getting stronger. When I look at you, I see the sky, and I think your future holds infinite possibilities. That's why I get angry when you waste your time practicing comedy because I think the gods have more in store for you. There's truth in every story, so maybe the ancestors are waiting for you to go through your trial to strengthen your core. I keep having dreams of you leaving to go on a journey by yourself—maybe it's my fear of losing you, or maybe it's the gods telling me to let you go."

"But where would I go?" I asked. "If I wanted to get in touch with our ancestors. How would I find them?"

He shrugged. "My mother says they live in you and everything around you; you just have to show them that you're willing to sacrifice everything in order to meet them."

***