Six Fantasy Stories Volume Two

The Sword That SpokeIn those days, before the death of my husband, the sword did not say much. Sometimes, I could not quite make out what it said—but I could not ask anyone else if they'd heard it. Because Tizona, the sword of El Cid, spoke only to me. As far as I know, Tizona never said a single word to anyone else, even its master, my husband Rodrigo—the great El Cid Campeador. It struck me funny sometimes, that the sword of such a warrior, a powerful man who had battled the mightiest Moors, would talk to me, but not him. It struck Rodrigo even funnier, of course, when he caught me talking to Tizona. He teased me, asking if I loved the sword more than I loved him. And in this, though none of us knew it at the time, Rodrigo predicted the future. I remember very clearly the first words Tizona ever said to me. They came after the witch, the bruja, cast her spell. "You and I, Jimena," said Tizona, its voice high and sweet as the tinkling of a bell. "We will turn the tables." Stunned, I looked all around for the source of the voice, unable to believe it had come from the sword. All I saw were the four barren walls of the bruja's decrepit hut, where I'd come for help a mere month after my wedding day. "It is I. Tizona." The voice tinkled again, drawing my eyes to the gleaming sword on the table. "The bruja tricks you." "How?" I said. "What was that?" The bruja stood and stared less than an arm's length away, on the other side of the table. Tizona did not move the slightest bit as the tiny voice emanated from its shining blade. "You traded ten years of your life for a spell of protection for your new husband. My master, El Cid." "Yes." I stared at the palm of my left hand, where the witch had cut a bloody pentagram framing a star—the marks of magic. The bruja was getting angry. "Who are you talking to?" "She thinks she cheated you with a cut-rate spell," said Tizona. "She thinks it will provide no protection." Now it was my turn to be angry. I glared at the bruja, and she backed away scowling. "But we will turn the tables," said Tizona. "I was enchanted long before this, by a magician far greater than she. I shall offer the protection she denies." "Which means what?" I said. "So long as you and I are both faithful to El Cid," said Tizona, "I will raise him up if he falls dead." "Really?" I said. "Once," said Tizona. "I can do it only once." My husband, Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, was a magnificent soldier, a knight beyond compare. The Christians called him El Campeador, the champion. The Moors who ruled so much of our land called him sayyid, meaning "lord"...which became "El Cid." He fought the Moors in battle after battle throughout Spain, striking fear in their hearts...and inspiring admiration in the hearts of his own people. He was a living legend, a true hero and god among men. And his glamour was not lost on me. I was starstruck from the first time I gazed into his dark, flashing eyes. The stories of his exploits thrilled me...no less so when I learned he would take me as his bride. Everything changed after that, though. I made a terrible mistake. I fell in love with him. And with love came worry. Every time he rode off into battle, I could hardly stand it. Thinking he might never return. Which is why I sold ten years of my life to a bruja to bewitch his beloved Tizona. In the years that followed, only one thing never changed between Rodrigo and me. My love for him never wavered. It remained steadfast as the love of Christ for mankind. As Mount Penyagolosa towering at our backs. That does not mean I loved the creature who came to live inside Rodrigo, however. The thing I decided I had to kill. I'll never forget the first time I saw it. Rodrigo and I were walking out of the cathedral in Castile after mass. This was in the days when he was still in favor with my cousin, King Alfonso. It was a beautiful day, all blue sky and sunshine and warm breezes. Rodrigo and I walked arm in arm, and he leaned over and kissed me on the lips. "What shall we do with the afternoon, Jimena?" said Rodrigo. I smiled and blushed. We both already knew what we would do when we got home. "Clean the castle?" It was our own little joke. Our secret code. Rodrigo leaned close, his crooked smile full upon me. "Only if you do your share. There is much cleaning to be done." I laughed and leaned my head on his shoulder. And that was when the assassin leaped out of the shadows ahead of us. Black robes whipping, the Moor hurtled toward us, screaming and drawing a sword from the scabbard at his hip. Without hesitation, Rodrigo shoved me back and charged forward. Arms and legs pumping, he leaped into action against the Moor. It was the first time I'd seen him in battle—and he was magnificent. His body sprang and twisted, dodging the Moor's sword-strokes with perfect timing and agility. He pelted the Moor with one fierce blow after another, knocking the sword from his hands and then knocking him to the ground. Without a weapon that wasn't part of his body, Rodrigo battered and broke the assassin, pounding him flat in the street. And then he killed him. It happened so fast, I hardly noticed at first that he'd done it. Rodrigo took the Moor's head in his hands and suddenly twisted it hard to one side. When he dropped it, the Moor lay motionless under the sun, lacking even the rise and fall of breath passing in and out of his chest. That was when I saw it for the first time. The thing inside my husband. "All right?" Rodrigo said it as he rose from the limp body of the Moor in the street. My nod was a lie. As Rodrigo approached me, I had to fight the urge to back away. Rodrigo's eyes were glowing red, like the coals of a fire. His body was covered in fine, emerald scales, like the skin of a snake. A forked tongue flickered from between his scaly lips, red as a ribbon fluttering in the breeze. The thing moving toward me wore my husband's clothes, but it was not my husband. It spoke with Rodrigo's voice...and then that changed, too. Two voices emerged from its mouth. One was Rodrigo's, asking if I had been hurt. The other was like the rasping of rough stones scraping together, the rattling of bones in a bucket. "You see me?" It sounded surprised. "No matter." My heart pounded, and my blood ran cold. I did take a step back, then, away from the creature. "We share a husband." The thing said it while Rodrigo's voice asked what was wrong with me. "But we can work out a schedule. "You only want him when he's loving and kind," said the thing. "I only want him when he's killing." Then, with a burst of rasping laughter, the thing disappeared. "Jimena? Darling?" Rodrigo was back to normal in every way, as far as I could tell. But still, I could not bring myself to clean the castle with him that day. Later, when night had fallen and Rodrigo was asleep in our bed, I talked to Tizona. Of anyone close at hand, I thought he might know the most about magic. Tizona lay on a chest at the foot of the bed, glowing silver in the pale moonlight. I lifted him in a cloth, taking care not to cut myself on his sharp edges. As quietly as I could, I carried Tizona from the bed chamber and softly pulled the door shut behind us. I tiptoed downstairs to the chapel and laid him upon the altar. And when I asked him, he told me what had happened to my husband. "War changes men in more ways than one." Tizona's voice was high as a chirping bird. "They are not the same when they fight on the battlefield." "Of course," I told him. "Taking lives puts a terrible strain on a man. Everyone knows this." "I am not talking about the strain of battle," said Tizona. "I mean the men are literally not themselves in war." I shrugged. "To do what must be done in war, they must harden themselves. They must put aside the civilities of everyday life. This I understand." "You do not, Jimena." Candlelight flickered on Tizona's polished surface. "But you are beginning to." I frowned and shook my head. "What are you saying?" "When next El Cid leads his men home from battle, go down to the city gates. Wait with the women...and watch." "I have done this before," I told him. "Many times." "Yes," said Tizona. "But now, your eyes have been opened." Three days later, I did as Tizona told me. I went to the gates to welcome our knights home from fighting the Moors. Dozens of women waited with me, hands bursting with flowers and rosaries. They padded back and forth in the steaming dust, chatting over what news they had of the fight...praying that their men were not among the dead. A young friend, Solea, stood by my side, a glittering crystal rosary wrapped around her little fist. "Alejandro is fine," she said. "I know this." Her big eyes darted nervously as she waited for the gates to move. I smiled reassuringly. "He will be in your arms any minute now." Solea's hands were in constant motion, twisting and kneading like kittens in a basket. "You are lucky, Doña Jimena. The great El Cid cannot fail to return to you." "And those who fight beneath his banner are likewise blessed." I reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "Like Alejandro." Just then, the sound of approaching hoofbeats thundered from the other side of the city wall. Shouts flew between the lookouts in the towers, and the gates began to move. As one, the women pushed forward and parted, leaving a broad lane down the middle. Hearts pounding in unison, we all looked in one direction—toward the gates as they slowly swung open. From the heart of a swirling cloud of dust, the men emerged, armor banging and clanking with the rise and fall of the horses. Staves and lances pointing skyward, they came like a storm of metal and flesh, an island of tempered steel in a sea of gray vapor. Women cheered and clapped as the lead rider charged through the gates and down the lane, followed by the rest in tight formation. Flags and vestments flying, they bolted between us and pounded to a stop, raising fresh drafts of dust in all directions. Then, one by one, they raised their helms, baring their faces for all to see. The other women rushed forward, but I stayed back. My hand flew to my lips as a gasp leaped from my chest. Though I had witnessed the same event many times before, it had never looked like this. It had never been so awful. Astride each horse, clad in familiar armor and coats of arms, were creatures like the one who had taken my husband. Leering, wicked things with burning eyes and scaly hides. To the very last man, that squad of knights had been corrupted. Some were fully transformed, with blazing crimson eyes and glistening scales of green or gold or magenta. Some were halfway changed, with one eye afire and the other wholly human, one half smooth-skinned, the other reptilian. Some flickered back and forth between man and monster, faces warping from one to the other extreme as I watched. And the women embraced them anyway. As the creatures dismounted their horses, the women threw their arms around them, kissing and caressing and weeping with joy. They did not see what I saw. Solea was among them. "Doña Jimena!" Tears racing down her face, she waved from the arms of a monster. "You were right! My Alejandro has returned!" It was all I could do to muster a faint smile for her. The creature's forked tongue fluttered in the bell of Solea's ear, painting it with strands of viscous slime.