CALLEREO

Chapter 2

Rosco awoke to birds singing outside his room. He had traveled home the night before leaving the training grounds at the Von Durkham Estate for a short break. He’d thrown the windows open last night to let the fresh air in and had easily drifted off with the fresh scents of taalyan cypresses soothing him to sleep with their minty aromas. Tall, thin trees with bristles that grew in straight columns and ending in a point. He sat up and ran his hands down his face rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

After dressing he left his room and headed downstairs. He turned the corner into the room and found his brother Prava lounging by the window with a bowl of bellberries reading a book. Rosco stopped beside him and leaned down to read over his shoulder.

“When did you get back?” Prava asked without stopping reading.

“Last night.”

“Did you quit training?”

“No, I heard about something that I wanted to tell you about.”

“What’s that?” Prava put a thin painted piece of parchment on the page he was reading and shut the book.

Rosco and Prava were five years apart but were almost the same in height. He and Prava were tall for their ages, Rosco being taller than all of their cousins. He and Prava had similar personalities, often liking the same things, but they didn’t look like the other. Rosco was thin with little tone to his structure, often his clothes draping off him instead of fitting properly, while Prava still had his boyish pudginess and his attire fit like the young noble he was. Rosco had pale blond hair and dark brown eyes with gold flecks around the pupils, and a narrow face that tapered into a pointed chin. Prava had the same light complexion but dark blue eyes that shown like sapphires, and neatly brushed back dark brown hair, but his face was rounder than Rosco’s and was vibrant with bouncy, youthful skin. He wore a blue silk shirt with white embroidery over the shoulders and arms.

Rosco stood draped in a shirt of his favorite color. He liked the deep crimson red shade, as it always reminded him of apples, a fruit he enjoyed eating in baked dishes. His shirt, a soft and breathable cotton, had sleeves that hung almost to his elbows and was decorated at the edges with gold leaves.

Rosco tried waiting until Prava had sat up to give him his full attention before speaking but it burst out instead.

“I heard about this magical weapon. It’s supposedly from the gods and while I don't have much more than its name, Callereo, I’m pretty convinced it’s real!”

Prava stared up at him, his eyes shining with excitement but then as Rosco stopped talking it began to sink in and his excitement melted away. “That’s it?”

Rosco stood looking at him and then nodded. “Yes.”

“Rosco, that’s… nothing.”

“Well there was a bit of a story to it,” Rosco said, glancing away as his own excitement shook. He told Prava the myth he had heard about the man named Laszlo and the knife that seemed to sparkle with magic when it struck.

Prava sat with his hands and closed book in his lap, watching Rosco with an unsure look. “I don’t know. It could just be another story.”

Rosco tried a different approach. “But what if it is real? It could be out there, somewhere, just waiting for someone to find it.”

“I don’t know. Your story is so weak and has little truth to it.”

Rosco grabbed a chair and swung it around to sit in it with the back in front of him. He placed his arms across the top and with a forced excitement in his voice said, “Just think about it! There are some truths to ancient stories, right? So, who’s to say there isn’t truth in this one? What if Callereo is real? Wouldn’t it be something to hold, to wield a magical weapon?”

“Yes but… you have this small story that mentions a knife that sparkles with its attack. Other than that, the tale doesn’t tell what it does or even has proof it is magical. What if all it is is the steel has some other property forged with it that makes it look like it’s magical?”

“Prava! We’re always talking about how grand all of those adventures the books you read tell. Here is one, in real life and you’re just flat out dismissing it. Just imagine if it was real. How amazing that would be!” Rosco said throwing his arms out. “Think about how incredible it would be to hold it and know it was a magical weapon! A weapon from the gods themselves. All the possibilities of what it could do!” Rosco paused but added, “I think it’s out there.”

Prava stared at him his expression full of dismay. Rosco could tell Prava didn’t believe the same as he about Callereo.

“Let’s make a bet,” Rosco said jumping to his feet, the chair jostling in his quick motion. “I think it’s real. I think it’s out there. I can see clearly on your face you just think it’s a farce.”

“You want to make a bet about this?”

“Yes.”

“What would we bet? If it’s real? To prove that you would have to find it.”

“I bet I can find it,” Rosco said and pointed at Prava with a wide grin stretching on his face. “I think it’s real and I think it’s out there, somewhere. If I try hard enough, I bet I could find it.”

“How do you think you’re going to do that? You have this small story about a knife that sparkles. What else do you have to go on besides that? Sounds more of a bedtime story than anything, to me.”

Rosco took a moment to think. “I think I’d start by looking through the books in our library, seeing if there is any mention of Callereo and then if not maybe the library in the city does.”

Prava started to laugh. “You’re the last person I would find in a library, but it’s interesting to think about. I’m curious to see if you do that. I still don’t think it’s real. And I don’t think you’ll find it.”

“Let’s stake something on this, because I think I think it is.”

Prava scooted off the cushioned bench by the large open window and headed to the table to look over the food that was still laid out for that morning’s breakfast. “What kind of stakes do want for this challenge?” Prava said. He hovered over a platter of yellow grapes. He plucked a few off and popped one in his mouth before turning to Rosco.

“Let’s…” Rosco paused as he wasn't sure what kind of challenge this could be. “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug and a lighthearted smile.

“How about a time frame?” Prava said popping another grape in his mouth. “How about…” he paused for a second gazing out the open windows. “How about in five years, if you have found Callereo by then, you have won. But if, after five years, you haven’t and I’ve won.”

“Five years,” Rosco said staring at the floor. “That would be Quineaus, day eight of year six thousand twenty-nine. If I have not found Callereo by that day I have lost. But, if I have found it, I win the bet.” He watched Prava nod but it had yet to dawn on him what he would have to make himself do, to try and find this magical knife.

“Do you think you won't be able to find it in five years?” Prava said and then added, “if it’s real?”

“I guess it’ll just depend on if I can find anything else about it. But watch me, I am going to try,” Rosco said.

“If in five years, you haven’t found it… I want mother’s goblet set.”

“The ruby ones?” Rosco asked appalled.

“No, the ones with the O’Brien crest on them, from mother’s house.”

Rosco stared at him. The goblet set Prava spoke of consisted of four pewter goblets with the O’Brien crest designed in exquisite detail, and ringed with many small yellow citrine stones. The goblet set was traditionally handed down to the firstborn of the family. Rosco’s mother had been given it by her father and she in turn had handed it to Rosco, being a firstborn himself. If Rosco had to hand the set to Prava that would be breaking a two hundred year old tradition. He thought it over a moment more and ran his hand through his pale hair with a sigh. Finally making a decision, he turned to Prava with a nod.

“I will agree to that. If I find Callereo within five years, I want… I want….”Rosco trailed off.

“What do you want?”

Rosco shook his head with a confused frown. “There actually nothing I want. I like the idea of the challenge and I want to find it and prove to you I was right that it is real, and you were wrong.”

“If that’s all you want… You’re stake in this is just bragging rights,” Prava said with a childish laugh. “Five years to find this so-called magical knife of the gods, or lose the family goblet set. Or find it in five years and have bragging rights for the rest of your life.”

Rosco stared over Prava’s shoulder for a moment, lost in thought. “I feel like I’m not gaining much in this bet.”

“Well if you find it, you’ll also be in possession of Callereo, right?” Prava said. “So there’s that too.”

“Yes.” Rosco said and looked back at him with uncertainty.

“Then you’ll also have something beside bragging rights, unless there is something you want me to stake on the line?”

Rosco thought for a moment but then shook his head, “No, I just really want to find it and prove to you I’m right.”

“You should probably get started then,” Prava said with a smirk. “If it’s legendary and there’s barely a story about it, it’s not going to be easy to find.”

“I’ll eat first!” Rosco said with a dramatic air and a large smile and grabbed the chair he had pulled from the table. “And then I’ll get to it.” He walked over to the table and put the chair down before sitting in it. “Now what do we have for breakfast?”

It was later in the day, Rosco finding himself in their family’s library. It wasn’t as large as many of the libraries at the castle, but it had books in it and he was going to scour them until he found something about this magical blade.

He entered the room, the area where the shelves of books and chairs were arranged. On his right the room turned and a large circular area of the room with marble tiled floors faced him. He glanced at it, one of his favorites places in his family’s manor. He wasn’t one to read books for pleasure but he could appreciate beautiful architecture. The circular part of the room was mostly empty aside from a couple of cushioned chairs with dark wooded frames, two pedestals that supported large bouquets of flowers created from sewn fabric, and on the domed ceiling high above a mural was painted. Curved beams that held up the domed ceiling, met in the center of the rounded pitch. Rosco would see, if he walked over and looked up to admire the artistry, that in each of the five triangles made by the wide beams, a different painting of a past battle decorated the pie slices. On the left side of the rounded walls were large windows that let in a brilliant amount of light that would bounce off the white-washed walls and even brighten the darker square of the room, where the bookshelves lined the longest wall.

He stopped at the shelf closest, the circular part of the room behind him dousing his back in a wave of bounced sunlight, and skimmed titles that were eye level. Many didn’t have names on their bindings and he frequently found himself taking one down to open it and read inside. He put back the fifth one with a loud sigh realizing how big of a task this was going to be. He looked down the wall of books, the shelves from floor to ceiling and packed with leather and cloth bound tomes and rolled up scrolls. He could search through every one of them, but there wasn't a guarantee there was even a shred of information about a legendary knife there. He leaned forward putting his brow against the shelf and stayed that way for a minute, wondering if he had time to back out of the bet he had made with Prava.

“No,” Rosco muttered to himself and pushed away from the shelf, scanning the books again. He rubbed is forehead where the shelf lip had pressed into his skin, feeling the welt created by the wood. “I won’t give up. I will find Callereo, because it is real.” With his new found resolve he started by searching all titles he was able to read along the spines before delving into ones he would have to pull down and open.

It was then he spotted one as he came halfway down the wall that caught his eye and he reached for it. The title was Magical Artifacts of Balkanos. His mouth twisted into a crooked smile, the book seeming promising and moved over to one of the cushioned chairs in the bright circular part of the library.

He flipped through the pages, shocked at how many magical artifacts were said to be in the land, when he came upon a page that showed an image of a knife. It had a slightly curved blade and a hilt that twisted with sharp points, appearing to be thorny vines. The blade and the hilt were shaded, the hilt darker than the blade, but all was in a black ink, the lines closer on the hilt to make it appear darker.

A section of writing ranged around it and it took some minutes to decipher it, the ink severely faded, the pages dark and yellowed with age. Some of the words he could decipher by staring at the shape of the letters and imagining how the writer had moved his hand. Others he had guessed by the words around them to make out what it said altogether.

The magical blade of Callereo. A blade crafted by the Winter God, Morden, and said to contain terrifying power in the wrong hands. Be careful when killing.

“The Winter God?” Rosco muttered.

Balkanos hadn’t seen winter in two thousand years, the Winter God disappearing long ago. Some knew the tale of how the god and His season disappeared with him, but others didn’t. He hadn't cared to pay attention during his lessons, thinking learning a boring way to spend time, but felt this was something he should have been paying attention to and cursed himself. He sat forward and looked over to the shelves wondering if he should start by researching the god himself, if the blade was said to be forged by Morden. He closed the book he had in his hands and stood to find books on the Winter God.