Chapter One
Uta sat silently alone. She sat alone as she had everyday for the past eleven years, two months, and twelve days. She sat in an ornate chair by a clear, clean window, rare in this dimension, that overlooked a beautiful canyon. The room she sat in had an incredible, lush queen-sized bed, high-vaulted arches in the ceiling. The walls were lined with dozens of tightly packed bookcases, and an elaborate table set with a feast that could have fed a dozen hungry men.
Xama had taken special care of her in the past, but her life was dull. She was not fulfilling her duties as a Blood Virgin. Hers was supposed a life of servitude and prayer. Instead, her life was a life lived through books.
She looked down at the gorgeous gardens. She was allowed only one hour a day there, and she spent most of the time walking, stretching, and exercising, because Temple law dictated that one should take care of her body. Every nite three ladies-in-waiting attended to her, bathing her, and brushing hair that had not been cut in her time with Xama. Then in the morning, the three returned, to dress her in intricately embroidered clothing and fix her ankle length tresses. All day, she read, stretched, prayed, and sang in her room. She listened to the guards talking in the hallways for entertainment occasionally, she came up with nicknames for them, and made up stories about the men as well.
Still, something was missing.
All three attendants were mute, so they looked at their kind mistress with adoring eyes, but had nothing to say. Her food was brought by fine cooks, but they were resentful and cantankerous, and made no comment. The guards were ever-present, had been given order under penalty of death not to speak to Uta, and were no company at all.
Yet, this was not what was missing.
There was a deep yearn in Uta. There was some greater cause she was needed for. She could feel it calling to her. She wished with every fiber of her being to answer calling.
Suddenly, she heard a sharp yelp come from the corridor outside her quarters, the voice of a guard she called “Puck” for his smart-ass sense of humor. She listened carefully, but no more sounds came at all, which was a rare thing, mostly at this time of day there was much activity in the halls. Uta sat frozen in fear. The quiet persisted for a few more tense moments before she noticed a shadow melting into a man. She realized, with some surprise, that he was a half-elf.
“Are you the Blood Virgin Uta?” His dark, deep voice asked ritualistically.
“I am,” she replied quite calmly, especially considering how shaken she was.
He stepped forward, cocked his head slightly, and seemed to consider her. “Your Temple needs you yet again.”
Uta stood up gracefully and firmly, and faced him, unwillingly to seem weak. “How am I to know that you tell the truth?” She stood her full height, which was a few inches taller than the half-elf.
He smirked, and held out his right hand, palm up, and revealing three small diagonal cuts there.
She gasped and backed away, holding her hands tightly to her chest. “The Secret Mark of the Counsel!!” She stepped forward cautiously. Her hands wrapped around his, “They really do need me don’t they?” She ran her thumbs over the wounds, and they disappeared.
He looked at her amazed, and rubbed his hand. He frowned, then recomposed himself. “”Get your things together.”
A shadow covered Uta’s face, and she silently started to gather some of her possessions. The intruder watched her critically. She, quite aware he was rating her choices, packed some clothes, a few books, and some combs and hair ornaments into a backpack that she pulled from a secret panel in the wall. She then wrapped herself in a thick blanket. She turned to the figure across the room, “May I ask you something before we leave?”
Before a reply could be formed, a huge form burst into the room. He stood over eight feet tall, almost three feet across his crimson furred chest. His fangs jutted sharply from his wide jaw, and he grinned horribly at the flustered Blood Virgin.
“Lord Xama!!” She cried with wide eyes.
“Were you plannin’ on cuttin’ out on me, Uta dear?” The Wolven growled. “And YOU!” He looked down at the interloper, “Why do you think you can just come into my home and steal my Maiden?”
Even though the lord of the manor was more than three feet taller than himself, the half-elf looked calm and confident. He laid his hand on his fine sheath, and smirked quietly at the scarlet beast. Blood dripped to the floor.
Xama’s eyes grew wide suddenly. “You’re Jawn the Bloodsword!”
“Yes,” Jawn
leapt at his enemy, drawing his magnificent sword at lightening speed. The
Wolven tried to dodge, but he was much too slow, and the confined space gave him
little room to maneuver. The small half-elf buried his weapon in Xama’s
shoulder, then swiftly jumped away to a position five feet from the fallen
Lord. He stood erect, sheathed his sword, and showed his fangs. “I have
been asked not to kill you, if at all possible, will you stay down?”
Xama stuttered, amazed, “You stabbed me!!”
Jawn shook his head, and smiled. “Come along, Miss Uta.”
She calmly stepped around the screaming Wolven, looking completely unaffected. She was finally free to fulfill her destiny. She left her gilded prison without looking back, but she couldn’t help but hear Xama shrieking something about the state of world where dirty half-elves pranced into decent citizens homes and just took whatever they wanted. She smiled and faced the outside world for the first time in more than a decade.
Jawn looked deeply into the fire. After acquiring the girl, he had led them back toward the Temple, getting almost a good day’s walk in before the Maiden needed to stop and rest. He had to admit that for a human female who had been locked up for the past ten years, she was fairly strong. He had been expecting to have to move slowly on this second leg of his journey.
He turned his attention to her, on the other side of the fire circle. She was brushing her obscenely long hair. He was half-tempted to demand that she cut it, it obviously could be a problem, but he knew how strong the ideals of those who followed the Temple were, so he left it alone for the moment. She arranged her hair much more easily than he thought possible, using some of the clips she had packed away.
Her pack, handmade from scrapes of cloth, perplexed him. It was proof that she was expecting someone to come get her, but how she could have known? It was the Temple’s policy not to provoke enemies, so under normal circumstances, they would have never arranged for any sort of rescue. He knew enough about the Red Lord Xama to know that he would never leave a prisoner any delusions of escape. And, he was told that only he, the Temple leaders, and the Counsel of Twelve knew that Uta was that last Blood Virgin. She must have incredible inner strength and faith to hold on to that glimmer of hope.
But her strength extended to body. Her backpack must weigh at least forty pounds, but she never complained, nor asked for assistance. He realized about half an hour into the walk, that she must have trained extensively. More evidence of Temple obedience. He didn’t really know anything about her directly though, because they had only exchanged about two sentences since leaving Xama’s stronghold. This may have been her best feature, as far as Jawn was concerned. He hated how most human females her age felt the need to talk constantly. Of course, he was not fool enough to think she wouldn’t want to converse at some point, so he sat back and waited for it.
It was several minutes later before she said anything.
“I’ve read about you,” she didn’t look up for brushing.
It was hardly what Jawn expected to hear. He was planning to answer, “Why did you rescue me” or “What am I needed for” or at least “Where are we going,” just some question, annoying as they might be. Instead, all he got was an odd statement. He wasn’t sure what to say.
“Xama got me many books,” she picked up a clip, and continued her work, “One was about modern outlaws. There was a chapter you,” no emotion colored her voice, she spoke like she was talking about the weather.
Jawn poked the fire and sneered, “What did it say?”
“Ohhh....” She sighed and leaned back, braiding a section of her hair. “That you are an extremely dangerous blonde half-elf who uses the Legendary Bloodsword,” she ignored his reaction, which was a mix of annoyance and slight surprise, and continued her spiel, “The Sword, a weapon made of an unknown metal that is said to be impossibly hard and dark red in color, inexplicably bleeds whenever its welder is anxious or about to fight.” She finally looked at him, “Is that correct?”
He turned back to the fire, a stony look on his face, “Yes, that’s all true.”
Uta went back to her task, but causally continued her talking, “It also included a description of all incidents you were known to have been involved in,” she peered at him out of the corner of her eye.
He frowned, then looked suspiciously at her, “ That would be enough to frighten most human women,” he stated coldly.
“What do I have to fear?” She gave a short laugh, “Either you will kill me or you won’t,” she looked boldly at him, and their eyes locked. Utter shock filled his whole being. For most of his life, no beings made eye contact with him, because his catlike eyes disturbed them. But this girl, this innocent, would not look away.
Jawn sat in complete wonder, unable to move, unable to breathe. His mind flashed back to the memory that, at times, had defined his life. The powerful wizard who he was sold to as a child, looking down at him, saying the words that would change his life, “No one will ever look at you with anything but fear or disgust.” After that, Jawn decided fear was more tolerable than disgust, and set upon earning as much fear as he could.
And what the old wizard had said had always been true, up until that exact moment. In the deep brown eyes across the fire, he saw no fear, he saw no disgust. There was... Respect, maybe? Or... Caring? Jawn couldn’t read her expression, and definitely couldn’t interpret the look in her eyes, for that was an art completely unknown to him. Her eyes held him so tightly, he couldn’t even breathe. After some time, he lost track of the moments, he blinked. Uta frowned and looked away.
“No answer for that, eh?” She scoffed and half-smiled at him, “Nice way to build my confidence there, Bucky.”
“Well-” he started, then an utterly confused look covered his face. He stared at her for several long seconds, but she didn’t respond to his stunned expression. “B-Bucky??”
“Read it in a book once,” she beamed at the perplexed half-elf, “I always wanted to use it.”
He raised his eyebrows and did something that was completely unexpected- he laughed. “Well, I was expecting a little snotty priss that would be frozen in fear at every turn, but it seems I wasn’t so lucky.”
She crossed her legs, leaned back, a wide grin covering her face, “It just may be so, O Wielder of the Bloodsword.”
He frowned, “You shouldn’t address me formally, Maiden.”
“Neither should you, Jawn,” she drawled.
“All right then, Ma-” a look from across the fire stopped him, “U... Ta.”
“See, it wasn’t that hard, wasn’t it?” She finished her task, distractedly coiling the finished braid around her head.
“We shall see.”