Chapter 11: Chapter 11 - The Sword

Corinne rolled out of bed. Excitement charged through her system. She knew what today was. Today was the day when Uncle Sam would begin training her!

She had prepared the whole week. Her mother told her that she needed to have all her chores done before she could train, and she flew through all of them. The laundry hung on the line by Thurs day. Her room was clean by the end of Friday. All of her schoolwork was done. Nothing would stand in her way.

She hastily put on a pair of plain, black sweatpants and a faded t-shirt with a horse dancing on the front. Uncle Sam had told her to wear comfortable, warm clothes. She put her long, black hair into a ponytail.

She looked in a mirror that sat on top of her dresser and took stock of herself. A short and scrawny girl with creamy skin peered back at her through amber eyes, which had just a hint of a slant. Her eyes were the only thing about her appearance she really liked. She thought it made her look exotic.

She still stood a little south of five feet when her friends down the road had already grown several inches. Her parents kept telling her she took after her grandmother, who was short, too. Corinne felt with certainty she would never be big and strong, even by nor mal human standards.

Maybe she would learn some self-defense today. Her parents had refused to teach her when she asked. It seemed weird to her that she didn’t know how to defend herself. Even if Corinne never fought monsters, there was always the possibility of being attacked.

“Some monsters are human, and some humans are monsters,” Uncle Sam would often tell her.

She didn’t completely understand the part about monsters, but she did understand that people could be bad and good.

Take her brother, for instance. A lot of the time, he was a jerk to her. When she was younger, he would punch her in the shoulder, hard, but not so hard that it would leave a bruise. He took her stuff sometimes. She really hated that.

Sometimes, though, he could be nice. There was a boy down the road who used to pick on her. Donovan punched him so hard that he cried for an hour, and then threatened him so that he would not tell anybody. The boy never bothered Corinne again.

A whistle from downstairs shook her from her thoughts. Uncle Sam was here! She charged out of her room and ran to the stairs, but forced herself to walk down the steps slowly. She wanted Uncle Sam to take her seriously. Serious people didn’t run.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw a sliver of Uncle Sam’s arm in the kitchen. He was pouring himself a mug of steaming coffee.

“You know, I never really liked coffee,” Corinne said. She wrinkled her nose. “You don’t even put cream and sugar in it. How can you stand it?”

Sam frowned in mock indignation. “I would never pollute my coffee like that. I mean, cream and sugar? Come on!” He took a few more sips from his huge coffee mug. It held several cups more than the other mugs they had lying around the house. Uncle Sam waved his hand toward the basement door where they would begin training.

As they walked down the basement steps, Corinne marveled, “How can you drink that much coffee, anyway? Shouldn’t you be jumping off the walls or something?”

“Let’s just say it would take more than this to make me jittery,” Uncle Sam said with a playful smirk.

Corinne reached the bottom of the steps and switched on the lights. At the far end of the room was a wall of shelves. The top shelves had swords and axes hanging on them. Others were packed with first aid equipment, garlic, and incendiary grenades, as well as many other weapons. Corinne’s mom had taught her how to mend simple wounds. All members of a Hunting household were expected to be able to do it, although Donovan had never learned.

“I’m not going to fix up wounds. That’s Giftless work,” he told their mom once when she’d attempted to bring them downstairs for training. Her mom had tried to force him until, of course, her dad took Donovan’s side. Corinne was frustrated. Honestly, Donovan could get away with anything.

A wooden table stood in the middle of the long, low-ceilinged room. On the dark oak sat a vast assortment of long knives, stakes, crossbows, and other weapons used to fight the vampires. An inward-curving sword lay on the right end of the table.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Corinne felt strangely drawn to it. As she approached it, she recognized it. It was Uncle Sam’s magic Sword. She’d seen other swords that were bigger and more impressive. This one had some swirling marks on the metal handle that also climbed up the blade. The bottom of the pommel curved inward in the shape of a horse.

“Is that—” She asked, pointing to the Sword.

Sam looked at her. “It’s our family’s magic Sword, of course." He raised his chin in professor-mode again. "It's called a Celtiberian falcata, to be exact." He lowered his chin and raised his eyebrow instead. "I mean, what else would it be? You did know that we had one, right?”

Corinne had a hard time taking her eyes off it. The Sword seemed to glimmer a little. “Well, yes, I knew we had one, but mom and dad never really said where and how we got it. Could I look at it?”

“Yes, but don’t touch. Only a Patriarch or Matriarch can touch a Sword like that.”

“I know,” Corinne said, studying the Sword. “The magic will fry me, right?”

Uncle Sam nodded. “Only those who are meant to lead a Hunting family can use them. And there’s only one chosen at a time. Magic Swords are pretty cool. Watch,” he said. Sam picked up the Sword and swung it towards a thick cement block. Instead of glancing off, it sliced clean through.

“That’s amazing!” Corinne said.

“You have no idea. This Sword is especially good at killing monsters. This baby has helped me out of quite a few close calls.”

“Have you seen what happens if someone who isn’t the chosen Patriarch or Matriarch touches it?”

“Before or after their body melts into goo?” Uncle Sam said.

Corinne made a fake gagging noise. “Okay, so that’s gross. Where did they come from?” It was not very difficult to get Uncle Sam talking, and Corinne did it well. Plus, she was genuinely curious.

Sam’s eyes lit up. “Well, you see, much of our early history was lost, so we don’t know much about when and where the Weapons were created. That’s why we founded the Chroniclers.”

“Do we know anything?”

“There are theories. Some Chroniclers think they were forged in ancient Roman times to fight the Carthaginians. Apparently, the Carthaginian general Hannibal used some pretty nasty monsters at the Battle of Cannae. I personally think that it was much later.”

“Why?”

“Well, there aren’t any records of Gifted in Roman times. The Gifted and the Weapons have always been linked since we started keeping records.”

“What do you think?”

“There’s a legend that says that Hunters are the descendants of Arthur’s knights. The weapons were forged by Merlin to fight against a massive monster outbreak in Britain. There does seem to be a strong connection between the Gifted and Great Britain. Most of us came from there before we married into native populations. And our clans are named after different knights, for crying out loud! Your grandpa is from there, you know.”

Corinne nodded and closed her eyes. “And I guess only Gifted can be a Patriarch or Matriarch, right?”

Sam itched his scraggly beard. “Look, Corinne, I don’t want you feeling like you’re a second-class citizen.”

Corinne threw her hands in the air. “How else would I feel? My own parents don’t want me helping, which is all I’ve ever wanted to do. I gotta make them proud.”

“Your parents are proud of you.”

Corinne fixed Sam with a stare. “Can you honestly tell me that Dad is proud of anyone other than Donovan?”

Sam paused. “I…I can say that they love you, Corinne. That’s true, even if they don’t always show it.”

Corinne walked over to a corner of the basement where a heavy bag was hooked to the ceiling. She hit it as hard as she could. The bag shifted and wobbled and creaked a little, then quieted down. Sam walked over to her and they both sat down on the chilly cement.

“It’s so unfair!” Corinne said. “I’ve tried and tried. I want to help, but it always seems like I can’t. I’m not chosen. I’m not Gifted.”

Sam sipped his coffee. “I don’t know why you didn’t get the Gift. If anyone should have, it should have been you. And I’m not just saying that because you’re my niece. You do have gifts, even if they aren’t of the vampire-hunting variety. You’re smart and creative.”

“I just feel like I was the skipped child,” Corinne said, staring down at her hands. A small bruise was forming where she had hit the bag. She showed it to him. “I’m weak.”

Sam checked her hand. “There is more than one type of gift, you know. And we’ve all been chosen to do something. We might not know what it is right now, but I know it will be something great.” He smiled and put an arm around her. “Anyway, other than a teeny-tiny bruise, your hand’s fine. Let’s get started.”

As they stood up, Corinne didn’t completely understand what Sam meant. Her family only cared about the ability to kill monsters. What other gift was there? But she did feel a little better. She loved Uncle Sam. He was a good man. She gave him a hug and then stepped back so that they could begin.

Sam turned back to the table. He picked up a long piece of wood and gave it to her. Then, he raised an almost identical one of his own in his right hand. “This,” he said, pointing to his weapon, “is a stick.”

Corinne laughed. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“Even though you’re not going to be on the front lines, all Chroniclers are expected to have a fundamental knowledge of how to defend themselves.”

Sam swung the stick in long arcs around his body. “The same basic movements and angles you use with a stick, you can use with a sword. The swords we use in real life are more like machetes. We treat them with unscented garlic so that they hurt the vampires more.” He twirled the stick quickly and ably from side to side. “Go ahead and swing it now.”

Corinne lifted the stick to the right side of her head and swung it downward in a quick stroke.