The Old Sword part 5

*warning: Everything you read here are works of fiction

Hameed watched from behind as the ritual unfolds. Deep inside his heart, he was somewhat disappointed, but he knew it was to be expected.

                The senior cleric jogged back with a yellow cloth and yellow rope in his hands. He sat back in front of the Grand Cleric and hands the yellow cloth and the yellow ropes to him.

                The Grand Cleric accepted the yellow cloth and proceeds to order the senior cleric to take away the basin. He then placed the sword on the yellow cloth followed by its sheath.

                The Grand Cleric cups his hand in front of his face and began reciting words from the book. It was melodious, slow at first but it continuously grew in power as it goes on. The two senior clerics followed the Grand Cleric’s movement and cupped their hands in front of their faces.

Once finished, the Grand Cleric rubbed his face with his hands and ran them along the blade, whispering and murmuring as he moves his hands. The two senior clerics rubbed their faces with their hands and watch on as the Grand Cleric sheathed the sword and wrapped the yellow cloth around it. He secured the cloth with the yellow ropes and once again recites more words from the book.

“It is done” said the Grand Cleric. He shifts his body to his side and turns his gaze towards Hameed who was seating not far behind him. “Hameed”

Hameed stepped forward and sat facing the Grand Cleric.

“Yes, Imam.” Hameed bowed.

The Grand Cleric placed his hand on Hameed’s shoulder and pulled his head close to Hameed’s ear. “Take the sword to the smithy and ask him to melt it into a solid bar. Once done, take it outside the city walls and bury it where no one can find it” he said into Hameed’s ear.

Hameed nods. “Yes, Imam”

The Grand Cleric passed the wrapped sword to Hameed. “Go, child.”

Hameed bowed to the Grand Cleric before making his way out of the prayer hall.

The Grand Cleric watched as Hameed’s fleeting figure disappeared down the stair.

“Now there are only five”

Hameed jogged down the hallway and stopped in front of the staircase that leads to the lobby of the prayer building. He looked to the yellow cloth in his hands. “Only five left.” He grinned and made his way down the stairs.

Hameed made a detour to his room, changing his clothes to a more casual wear of a tunic with green sash and trousers. He slips into his leather shoes and make his way towards the smithy with the wrapped sword in his hands.

                Maneuvering the winding road of the city, he came to face the city’s largest forge. A large dome shaped building attached to a standard cube house. As he makes his way towards it, he could feel the intense heat coming from the dome shaped building like dragon’s breath. Sweats and steels formed vapors in the air around the forge, making breathing a chore.

                Hameed coughed. He sat the wrapped sword onto the counter and tapped on the bell to call the blacksmith.

                A large man, burly with curly moustache appeared from behind the darkness and smokes. “Yes, Imam?” said the smithy upon seeing Hameed.

                Hameed gave the man a bow. “Greetings” he said. He pushed the wrapped sword towards the smithy. “The Grand Cleric wished for this sword to be turned into iron bar”.

                The smithy rubbed his face with his already dirtied apron. He ran his hand on the cloth and looked at Hameed. “Is this…”

                Hameed nod but not before turning to his back and scout the area. “Yes. And the Grand Cleric wishes to see it melt immediately” he said.

                The smithy nods his head. “Will do” said the smithy. He picked up the yellow cloth and disappeared back into the shadows and fogs inside the smithy. “I will need a couple of days to melt the metal, I will send my boy to you once I'm done” said the smithy as he reappears again from the darkness of the shop wiping his hands with his apron.

                Hameed nods and left his seat, disappearing into the sea of people again.

                Varin sat looking out the window with a sad face. Above the house, the splatter from the rain drums like mad as if angered by what had happened. Varin gulped and curled himself above the rocking chair. He closed his eyes, recalling his old father, looking at him, proud and smiling. Such thoughts burns his heart with anger, it fuels his thirst for revenge.

                Varin grabbed hold of a cushion and grips its edges as hard as possible.

                If he had his way, he would have torn the cushion in half but his mind quickly remind him of his presence inside the house that was not his. So he stopped and closed his eyes.


                Varin woke up with a startle from his chair. He looked around the now dimly lit space and wiped his drenched face. It had been two days since his father’s burial and the only clue he had was a hooded man and crippled.

                Varin sighed and got off the rocking chair. He heads to the toilet with a face towel hanging on his shoulder. After a quick wash, he changed to a simple cotton shirt with green sash and a trouser. He gave himself a quick stretched and proceed towards the front door when it suddenly creaked open, revealing Sameth with a couple of wooden boxes in his hands.

                Sameth looked to Varin, surprised to see his young nephew up and about. “Where are you going?” he said.

                Varin looked at the boxes. “I was about to go to father’s grave” he said. “What are those?” he points to the two boxes.

                Sameth turned his head to the boxes. “Oh, this? Lunch. Lucia from the old diner place gave it to me on my way back” he said and placed the boxes on the table. “You’re going out now?” he turned to face Varin.

                Varin looked to the open door. “Yeah, I’ll have lunch after I’m back” he said with a smile. He grabbed his overcoat and heads out, leaving his uncle shaking his head.

                His father’s grave was a simple stone slab with his name and date of birth and death carved onto it. Varin stood overshadowing the stone slab. He read his father’s name again and again. His heart aches every time he did.

                Varin kneeled in front of his father’s grave. He ran his hand on the stone slab, tracing the carvings with his fingers several times. “Father” his voice trails to a sob.

                Varin dug deep into his pocket and produced the ring he took from his father’s corpse. He clenched the ring and grits his teeth. Trembling and filled with sadness, Varin screamed at the top of his lung scaring the birds from the nearby forest. He slammed his fists on the stone slab and screamed again.

                “I will catch him father. I will catch that crippled man and I will have my revenge.”