I jerk my arm from her grasp. “What, exactly, is embarrassing? That I’m worthy enough to be offered the spot, or that you have to compete with me for the title?”
A little snarl punches past her clenched teeth. Harper wants to become the next acolyte as much as I do, but in the end, only one of us may claim the spot. I vow it will be me.
Keeping her within my sight, I angle myself away from her, scanning the cramped space, which she shares with Isobel. Zephyrus called my bedroom sparse. I suppose that makes Harper’s sparse, too. The Text rests on her bookshelf, coated in months’ worth of dust.
“What did Mother Mabel tell you?” she demands. “Leave nothing out.”
Harper’s outrage is total. It breaks upon me like ferocious waves. They will suck me under if I do not hold my ground.
“I assume the same things she told you,” I reply, crossing the room to put space between us. “She mentioned the quest.”
When I do not elaborate, she spits, “No one believes the story surrounding your disappearance. You would never be that irresponsible. Yet here you are, acting like we’ve all done you a disservice in ostracizing you. Do you think me a fool?”
If I sayyes, Harper will readily rip my head from my body. So I say nothing. Sometimes no response is best.
“I can’t believe she’s giving you a chance,” she mutters, beginning to pace. “You are the last person to deserve the appointment.”
I’ve learned a thing or two about Harper over the past decade. She seeks attention. She places importance on image. She cares a great deal about Mother Mabel’s opinion, despite her failure to excel, her poor study habits. As long as there is an ear to absorb her complaints, Harper wants for nothing.
“You understand it will be a long journey, yes?” she goes on, too self-centered to realize my eyes have glazed over. “I will not wait for you. With your bulk, you will likely fall behind. Do not blame me when that happens.”
My cheeks warm. Years I have weathered her atrocious insults, and still I struggle to fortify my defenses.
It is true I’m larger than most. Tall, wide, muscular. An ample chest and soft hips. Most days, it doesn’t bother me. Beneath my white robe, I am no different than any other Daughter of Thornbrook.
Stomping over to her cot, Harper plops onto the edge of the mattress. Leather slippers peek beneath the hem of her gray dress. “Did she mention the task to you?”
“She did.” Am I thrilled about this quest? Not exactly. If, however, Mother Mabel demands I load stones into my pockets and plunge into the deepest river, I would do so without question. “We must seek out the blade called Meirlach.”
Harper frowns. “She told me the same.” For a time, she stares out the window, across the rain-damp forest, unusually ponderous. “The name is familiar,” she admits. “I can’t remember where I’ve heard it before.”
My attention wanders to her bookshelf. If she bothered to open the Text, she would know that name.
Harper tracks my gaze, and frowns. Leaning back on her elbows, she eyes me as one would a particularly loathsome creature. “Spare me your false piety. Are you going to tell me or not?”
The story can be found in the Book of Change. There are but a handful of sentences mentioning the remarkable sword. Only those deemed worthy could wield it. I know the words by heart, so I recite them to Harper:
Encased within the stone of destiny, a god-forged blade awaited its master. And on that seventh day, a king heard his name whispered by the fabled sword, and pulled free the shining steel.
When I’m finished, Harper drawls, “Sounds like an ordinary blade to me.”
Unbelievable. “Did you not hear the part where it whispers to its bearer?”
She snorts at the ridiculousness of the notion.
I do not share the sentiment. The Text must be considered truth, always. “May I see your Text, please?”
She waves her fingers in dismissal, as though my asking is an inconvenience, but I wouldn’t want anyone handling my personal copy without permission.
Plucking it from her bookshelf, I flip to the Book of Change, scan the story of Meirlach, seeking additional details while Harper watches from the bed. Her right leg, tossed over her left, bobs a rhythm as it hangs.
“According to the Book of Change,” I say, “Meirlach can cut through any shield, pierce any armor, even hack through walls. Those held at bladepoint will be unable to tell a lie.” Bumps pebble my flesh as I read further. “It is even said to command the winds.”
Harper’s eyebrows climb all the way to her hairline. “I’m sure,” she drawls.
I snap the book closed. “Why do you question the words on the page? To doubt the Text is to doubt the Father and His teachings.”Does Mother Mabel know of Harper’s skepticism? She must not, otherwise she would never have given this woman the opportunity to transcend her current station.
Harper glowers at me. “You’re saying you believe a sword cancut through stone? You believe it cancommand the winds?”
