Competition Part 1

I went to the surface, Demehojumarukotene respectfully held in my hands.

“O-oh dear…” I said, looking straight up at the wide open sky. “Th-thats right, Demehojumarukotene. You’ve never seen the surface, have you? It’s been years for me, personally. But don’t worry! You won’t fall up into the sky, that’s impossible..! That’s impossible…” I held her against my chest, extra tight, just to make sure.

Most of the Hogada den was underground, as it should be, but there were a few buildings on the surface. A trade outpost, an inn, a few shops for travelers, a dock on the large nearby river, and a large field for various sports. More like a small town, there were five entrances to the den placed around the area, some were built for walking, other entrances had large platforms to bring supplies and carts up and down. The surrounding countryside was flat. Not a tree to be seen for miles, just a well maintained cobblestone road and an endless expanse of verdant, green, overgrown grass. I felt so small. I wanted to go back underground.

My knees wobbled as I approached the sports arena. A large, circular field with six bleachers arranged in a hexagon. The bleachers were a dozen rows tall, but less than half the seats were used. We’re all so skittish of the surface that most of us from the Hogada den don’t use it. This was probably the largest gathering the surface has seen in years.

But it was still quite a few sisters. All those from the forge were in attendance, as well as their families, some curious den-residents, and a few salessisters who wanted to peddle their snacks. A nearby barbecue was set up over a large fire, and the smell helped keep my mind off the nightmare of being above ground.

I stepped onto the field and some of the spectators clapped and cheered for me. My ears fluttered, my tail wagged, and I blushed under my fur. I turned to the crowed and gave them a respectful bow, then held up Demehojumarukotene so she could enjoy a bit of the fame as well. This day was all about her, after all.

I think she liked the attention.

“They’re coming out here to see you, you know. It’s your big day,” I whispered to her.

I walked into the center of the field, where Wako and two Soldiers stood. The Soldiers were decked out head to paw in heavy armor that showed no gaps. They’d be taking each sword in turn and slamming them against each other until one breaks, and they needed the protection against any broken piece of metal that went flying.

I sighed, then felt a hand on my shoulder. I thought it was Fellas for a second, but she just turned the corner from the far side of the field. When I turned to see who touched me, nobody was there.

“Weird.” I thought. I felt a burst of confidence run through my chest, “I guess that was Master, showing me Her support!”

I turned back to Fellas as she walked the short distance between the bleachers and the center of the field. Behind her was a cart filled to the brim with swords, being pulled by four Workers. Fellas kissed to the crowd, bowed, really showed off and soaked up the attention she was getting. In turn, the crowd loved her.

There were so many swords, 93 in total, as I would later learn. She did all that in a week? Of course the crowd was going wild. Fellas was the ideal Slavani Worker. Quick, efficient, mass produced, accepted the challenge without complaint and rose to the occasion. I heard a few Sisters scream that they wanted to be just like her.

I looked past her to inspect the cart and… the swords were ugly. Chipped, unpolished, some had holes in them, wavy metal, far too thin in places, others too thick and dull. I couldn’t help but notice just how brittle each of her swords were, and even if the sun beat down, there was no shine to her blades. Of course none of them had sheaths, they weren’t even set in dedicated racks! She just threw them all on top of each other, naked, malformed, and without a hint of love.

It makes me cry.

Fellas and the cart pulled to the center circle and she gave one final wave to the crowd.

Wako stepped forward. “Worker Fellas, Worker Brooks. Are you ready?”

“Sure am!”

“I-I guess.” I shook my head, that was far too sheepish for Demehojumarukotene, I needed to be more confident! We were gonna win! “Yes!” I said with a firm nod.

“Good.” Wako said. She looked to my sword and rolled her eyes, then glanced to the cart and smiled. Demehojumarukotene’s scabbard was pretty, but she couldn’t understand how one well crafted sword could possibly stack up to nearly a hundred poorly made ones. Her face reflected a sharp joy, “you both know the rules?”

Fellas nodded, and I sighed before answering. “If I lose, I get fired.”

Wako smiled, but it was clearly in anticipation for my loss, “I’m glad you understand.”

From there, Fellas and Wako turned, walking to the bleachers.

“Brooks.” One of the Soldiers, Soldier Castada Empinurio Ferrinishimaka, said.

I perked to attention, and she put out her armored hand. My body screamed to not let Demehojumarukotene go, and I saw how the other Soldier rooted through the cart of swords to dig out her weapon, so rough and without a hint of reverence. I gulped, then held her out.

“Please be careful with her. Her name is Demehojumarukotene.”

“I see.” Respectfully, Castada put a hand on the scabbard and waited for me to let go. “I’ll treat her right, you can rest assured on that.”

I took a deep breath, then released her into the soldier’s grip. My hands felt empty.

I backed away so I could keep my eye on the pair, and I couldn’t help but feel a welling sense of pride. A sword, crafted with all the care and skill a Worker could muster, was now in the hands of a Soldier. It felt good. Right. Like we’re all where we need to be, this was what you had in mind for us, Master.

A gust of wind rolled by from the north, ruffling my fur, and I could have sworn I heard giggling. But it didn’t sound like it came from the Soldier.

“Master? Is that you? No, doesn’t sound like you either. Am I going crazy?”

Just as the wind passed, Castada finally unsheathed Demehojumarukotene and held her high. The sun hit her beautiful, polished, multi-colored metal, and reflected brilliantly across the whole field! Like a miniature sun in and of herself. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have said Demehojumarukotene created her own light in that moment! My sisters’ eyes went wide, and they stared mesmerized at the weapon I created. Nobody present could deny that she was beautiful.

“Whoa…”

“Swords can look like that..?”

“It’s pretty, but can it cut?”

“Who cares? Brooks needs to start making ceremonial swords!”

My sisters couldn’t contain their excitement, and went wild from the anticipation. Clapping, whistles, words of encouragement filled the air.  I hurried back to the bleachers, my face bright red. A lot of them were directing their praise to me, but it was Demehojumarukotene who deserved it. I sat near Fellas, Wako, and a load of other sisters who snacked away as the show was ready to start. Each seat came with a belt to strap yourself in, to reassure you that you’re tied to the ground and aren’t about to fall upwards into the vast expanse of the sky.

“Wow, Brooks,” Fellas said, slack jawed and staring at my blade. “You really did work on one sword the entire week.”

“Demehojumarukotene.”

“Huh?”

“Demehojumarukotene. That’s her name. Demehojumarukotene.”

“You named your sword?” She asked with a mocking tone. Some of the Workers giggled behind me.

Wako sat on the other side of Fellas, and leaned forward to look at me. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to name things? It’s like food. You don’t name food since you’re about to eat it. You don’t name swords ‘cause they’ll break. You’re just setting yourself up for sadness.”

I pouted and crossed my arms, “she won’t break.” I said, more to convince myself than anyone else.

Then, the two Soldiers finally squared off. Each held their sword back. I clasped my hands in prayer and couldn’t avert my eyes. I didn’t blink, no matter how much the wind hurt. At once, both Soldiers swung their arms around in a wide arch and slammed the blades together.

Demehojumarukotene cut through the other sword as if there was nothing but air. It wasn’t even a challenge for her. One clean strike that broke the brittle metal of Fellas’s sword and sent the broken piece flying up before it eventually came down, sinking half it’s length into the dirt. The crowd went wild, though I couldn’t tell if it was for Demehojumarukotene’s first victory, or for the broken sword landing upright.

“Haaaa…” I sighed and relaxed my shoulders. “Thank you, Master…”

“What are you getting so excited for?” Fellas asked, her chin up and a smug smile on her face. “We aren’t blind, everyone knows your sword is of better quality, that outcome was expected. The outcome you need to worry about is if your ‘demonkayroobie’ can stand up to nearly a hundred of those. Which it can’t.”

Wako looked to me, “this is what we mean by quantity being superior. A hundred swords, all weak individually, all united to the same goal, will easily overpower your one well-crafted blade in time.”

My ears perked back aggressively. “It’s Demehojumarukotene.”

Wako rolled her eyes. “Big difference, that doesn’t disprove my point.”

“The only thing that will disprove your point is winning, and that’s what we’re gonna do!”

The other Soldier tossed the broken sword aside and grabbed another. The two set up, slashed the blades against each other, and once more, Fellas’s was sent flying. The crowd’s cheers were far more subdued this time, as the broken bit didn’t land straight up.

“Hmh!” I turned to Fellas with a beaming smile.

“Calm down, it’s still only two.”

Then another broke.

“Three, big deal.”

Then another.

“Your sword is getting damaged too.”

Another.

“Not much longer until yours is worn down!”

One more.

“Ah, right, that one… I wasn’t really proud of that one. Way too brittle.”

The audience started making excuses too. They all agreed that my sword was pretty and well made, but Fellas was the ideal Slavani. Every sister wanted to be like her and make mass produced items like she did. So long as their hope remained in the value of sheer quantity, they’d continue their taunts.

“You hear? That sword was brittle anyway, no big deal.”

“If I was a Soldier, I’d be fine living like that sword! Just another casualty, knowing I gave my life to further Master’s ambition, what could be better?”

“Eyy, you see that! Look at Brooks’s sword! Is that a crack!” There was no crack, they saw what they wanted to see.

At one point, a sister came up and tried to offer me a snack but I shoo’d her away so I could see. Some other sisters gasped at me for my un-Slavani-like behavior of rejecting food, but I didn’t care. My daughter was fighting for her life out there. From then, the crowd started insulting me too, saying that no sword made by such an un-Slavani-like Slavani could match the values and skill of a real Slavani craftsman.

But as the day drew on, sword after sword fell against Demehojumarukotene’s onslaught. She just wouldn’t quit! She was a sword made to break swords! 10 swords fell. Then 15. Then 20!

Even the audience, who had been cheering for Fellas and her weapons, who had been disparaging me the whole time, started to worry.

“Hey, Fellas… when is her sword supposed to break?”

“A-any time now!” She cried.

Wako nudged her, “but when? This is getting embarrassing.”

“Sh-shut it, Caster. Don’t pretend like you know about what’s happening here.”

More swords tried to match Demehojumarukotene’s, and more swords learned the sheer reality of what happens when you face off against your betters.

The whole time, my hands hadn’t loosened from their prayer. I was mesmerized. The quick flick of Castada’s wrists and arms, the flash of color as my blade whirled through the air, the sharp rip of metal being torn, it was beautiful. A work of art.

“It really is a pretty sword.” One spectator admitted.

“I like the different colors, how’d you do that, Brooks?”

“Maybe I should add some color to my next blade…”

Their comments disgusted me, to be honest. All they cared about was the visual aesthetic of my sword, not about Demehojumarukotene’s thoughts and feelings as a creation. They wanted a sword that looks cool, that’s it. They didn’t care about it being a better weapon.

I spat on the ground, “how about you first try making your blade sharper? Actually try polishing her? Make a scabbard for her to call home. After you figure those out, you can worry about making your sword pretty.”

They didn’t appreciate my tone, but Demehojumarukotene had just broken sword 29 and they had nothing to say against my advice. Suddenly, I became the foremost expert on sword making.

Wako was squirming at that reality, she hated it.

“No.” I thought. “I shouldn’t savor her anguish. When Demehojumarukotene wins, I’ll be magnanimous in victory. Just as a good Slavani should, I’ll apologize for slapping her and I’ll hope we can work together from then on.”

Another few swords fell, but Demehojumarukotene stood strong. Undamaged. Undeterred. Unsatisfied. All 93 swords had to break before her, and all Slavani had to understand her greatness. I sure did make a prideful little sword, didn’t I!?

But then, after sword 35 broke and the crowd began clapping for Demehojumarukotene’s victory, Fellas nudged me. I looked over and saw her blushing. She wiggled in her seat and her ears fluttered nervously, she couldn’t look me in the eyes. “H-hey, Brooks… h-how… how do you polish a sword?”

My ears perked. “You want to know? It takes time though, you’ll end up making less blades in total.”

She gripped the edge of her seat. “I know, it’s just… seeing all my blades contrasted against yours… against Demehojumarukotene, it’s a little embarrassing how dull and lifeless they are.”

Excitement ran across my lips and I couldn’t help but smile. “Of course. I’ll teach you once we get back underground, okay?”

She nodded meekly.

More blades were split in half, the field out there was lined with shards of shattered metal. 37 fell. 39 fell. 44 fell. 49! It just kept going and going!

Then the 54th sword cracked in half before Demehojumarukotene.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!” A blood curdling scream of agony rang out across the field, hurting my ears.

The crowd erupted in applause and stomped their paws, the world beneath us vibrated. I looked around in a panic, my heart thumping inside my chest. Who screamed? Did a Soldier get cut? Why was nobody reacting? Was it just in my head?

I looked to Demehojumarukotene as the Soldier rolled her shoulder and the other went to get another sword. My eyes poured over the blade, soaking in every detail. She still looked so polished and fresh… but then I saw it. A chip. A missing piece!

Fear assailed my mind and my eyes burst into tears. I struggled to rip off the belt tying me to the bleachers, then I charged out into the field.

“Wait! Wait! Stop! That’s enough!” I cried!

I heard the murmurs of the spectators over the wind. They thought I was crazy or confused, but I didn’t care. I ripped Demehojumarukotene out of Castada’s hands to inspect her closer.

There it was, plain as day, a chip on the blade. A small crescent shape, a few millimeters deep, near the middle. My heart sank. She got this injury on sword 54 out of 93? That’s barely over halfway. In what state would she be after going through all the swords? Could she even go through them all?

“What’s… more important? My job, or Demehojumarukotene? Can I really sacrifice her just for the chance of victory? Isn’t that incredibly callous of me?” I ran my finger over the length of the blade, she was still so smooth, even with everything she’d gone through. The light shined bright off her flank. She’s a sword. Swords are meant for cutting… but I couldn’t deny the scream I heard.

I gulped, then yelled loud enough for all to hear. “That’s it! Competition’s over! I withdraw! It’s my loss.”

The audience flew into an uproar of questions and confusions.

“Hey, Worker, are you sure?” Castada said. “But you’re winning! That’s the strongest sword I’ve ever seen, you can’t back out now. Don’t you want everyone to know you’re the best blacksmith in the den?”

The idea appealed to me, but I shook such delusions of grandeur out of my head and went to pick up the sheath. My voice was weary and my cheeks still wet from the tears. “I have no desire for that. The health of my swords come first. I’m going to bring her back home and repair her, that’s that.” I picked up the scabbard and went to slot her in… but she wouldn’t enter. “H-huh?” I tried again, but it wouldn’t work. I looked into the scabbard and tried to dump out any obstructions, but there were none. She refused to return home.

“D-Demehojumarukotene? What’s wrong? You gave a great showing, nobody will deny you that, but you’re chipped. If I don’t repair you, you might break irreversibly! Let’s go.” She still refused to go in.

Wako walked into the field with Fellas not far behind. “What’s the hold up?”

“It’s fine, I lost, I forfeit.” I held Demehojumarukotene up for Wako to see. “Look there, she’s chipped.”

Wako narrowed her brow as her eyes ran over the blade. “Just that little spot there? Most of Fellas’s swords have chips or bends far worse than that, and those swords are still being used. There’s no reason to forfeit.”

“And all those swords have been breaking!” I pulled her back, “I didn’t create Demehojumarukotene to shatter in some stupid, worthless competition. She doesn’t deserve that!”

Fellas scratched her chin, “actually, that’s exactly why you made her. To take part in this competition so you can keep your job.”

Wako put a hand on my shoulder. “I understand what you’re saying, but it isn’t a ‘she’, it’s a sword. You’ve grown too attached to it. Master’s second incarnation showed us what happens when the creator get’s too attached to her tools.”

Her words hung heavy on my shoulders, everyone knows the tragedy of your second incarnation, Master…

Then, the Soldier who wielded Demehojumarukotene took off her helmet. “If I may, I’ve used a lot of swords in my life, I’ve killed a lot of enemies for Master.” Castada pointed at Demehojumarukotene, “that little blade right there is the most bloodthirsty I’ve seen. You made her to fight in this competition, and that’s what she wants to do.”

My heart sank, and Fellas piled on. “I’ve heard a lot of your lectures over the years, back at the forge. You say all the time that we need to treat our swords as we’d want Master to treat us. Well, if you had an opportunity to fulfill the purpose Master set out for you, then she changed her mind at the last second cause she wanted to put you in a display case and never let you be used, wouldn’t that suck? That’s not a perfect analogy, but you get what I mean. You’re denying your sword the chance to fulfill her purpose. You’re being cruel.”

I couldn’t deny her words and my eyes began to water. “I-is that true, Demehojumarukotene? You want to continue?” But she didn’t respond. The only noise I heard was the gentle breeze, and the distant murmurs of the audience. She didn’t need to respond. I should have realized her desire the moment she refused to return to her sheath. “O-okay!” I forced myself to smile and tried my best not to cry. “Then go for it! I’ll be right there on the bleachers, watching you give it your all! Besides, I’m just being too paranoid. I’m getting all worried about you breaking, when it’s a given that you’ll be the winner here! Haha!”

With a forced smile and clenched teeth, I returned Demehojumarukotene to the Soldier. “Take good care of her, please.”

“How inconsiderate am I for crying? She wants to focus on the match, not think about how her creator is bawling her eyes out.”

The Soldier nodded, and I turned back to the bleachers. Wako announced to the audience that the competition was back on, and I sat down in my seat. I didn’t bother rebuckling the belt, I was too preoccupied to care about that.

All I did was sit there with my back straight and my arms crossed. I would be the supportive creator that Demehojumarukotene needed. No matter what happened, no matter how much she chipped or bent or broke, I’d support her.

“Don’t worry. The moment you win, I’ll bring you back to the forge and heal you. You just need to win!”