As time passed, Zeke became increasingly irritable. He slayed the shade, over and over again, but even as the fights became increasingly difficult, he never felt progress.

  “What am I supposed to be doing?” he shouted at Papa one day after several rounds of combat practice. “I swing the sword. I kill the shade. Nothing changes. What’s the point? What am I doing wrong?”

  Papa calmly blinked at Zeke’s outburst. “Several points. One is to familiarize yourself with Lilith's horde. It’s important you know how they move and attack.

  “Second, you’re rejecting yourself. You’re rejecting the sword. It’s a part of you, yet you hate it. You’ll never master it that way. You need to embrace it.”

  Zeke scoffed. It was easy to say. Embrace oblivion and insanity. In a haunting, absurd way, it was almost beautiful. But Zeke was raised to be a soldier, and Papa gave him an order, so Zeke took a slow breath and tried to surrender. His left hand caressed the ivory grain and detailed engraving. It felt smooth and strong. Closing his eyes, Zeke ran his fingers along the blade, accidentally nicking a finger. A drop of blood ran down the blade.

  Papa interrupted by musing aloud, “But maybe we have been going too slow. Alright. Let’s speed things up.”

  Papa waved his hand, and the cainkin shade evaporated into swirling darkness. With his other hand, Papa gathered more shadows and molded the darkness into a human shape.

  As the shade took form and definition, Zeke had an increasing foreboding. The shade’s brow, cheekbones, and jaw, its shoulders and shape, were all so familiar. Zeke felt an emotion he’d only read about in the books at home: hate.

  Zeke hated the man this shade resembled. Adam. Without knowing, he knew. This was the monster that trapped him for thousands of years. Murderer. Betrayer.

  Zeke launched himself at the shade. Casually, it blocked. Zeke attacked again and again, but nothing went through. Shade Adam was too fast. It went on the attack, and Zeke could barely deflect its blows; the dreadful sword was so heavy.

  Zeke took a kick to the chest and fell to the ground, and then rolled away.

  Papa said, “You’re fighting two opponents. Stop resisting the blade and embrace it.”

  Shade Adam slowly stepped toward Zeke.

  Zeke pulled himself up. He embraced his rage and let it flow into the Ivory Blade, and he swung it into position.

  But the strangest thing happened. Zeke felt something, and then the edge of the blade disappeared and reappeared in the air next to Shade Adam, and as Zeke swung the Ivory Blade, the edge fell in the same arc, cleaving Shade Adam’s head.

  “What just happened?” Zeke asked.

  “You did it! You used your power. You doorwaed the edge of the blade. Do it again!”

  Shade Adam reassembled and attacked again. Zeke barely deflected in time. He jumped back and tried to cut from afar, as he did before, holding the thought and intention in his mind. Nothing.

  Shade Adam dashed forward and threw Zeke to the ground.

  “Use your power!” Papa ordered.

  “I’m trying!” he shouted. What am I doing wrong? Zeke wondered. He imagined reaching into the sword, where he sent his rage and hate. He concentrated on how it felt as the blade doorwaed itself. Zeke swung the sword. Nothing.

  Shade Adam attacked again, knocking Zeke to the ground.

  He tried again and again. Nothing.

  And again and again, Shade Adam knocked Zeke on his ass.

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  Finally, Papa said enough.

  “Hey, you made a breakthrough today. Not only did you access your power for the first time, you’ve grown closer to the blade. I know today was hard, and I know being around the Ivory Blade takes a lot out of you, but I want you to appreciate this moment. Be proud of yourself. I’m proud of you, of the hard work you put in, and the progress you’ve made.”

  That lifted Zeke’s spirits immensely, even while holding the dreadful sword. He was surprised to feel both joy and grief at the same time, and in that moment, he realized the misery he’d been feeling was grief. Zeke had never grieved anything before, so he hadn’t recognized it earlier.

  “Why am I like this? That shade was Adam, wasn’t it? How do I know that?”

  Papa gently took the Ivory Blade and returned it to his shadow pocket, saying, “Your memories are stored in your brain, in your vessel. But your vessel has to experience a thing for you to remember it. Your soul has been around for many thousands of years, and it doesn’t remember the same way your vessel does. You have no memories of Adam or being trapped in the Ivory Blade, but your soul remembers, and your vessel is reflecting that. Sometimes ‘intuition’ is when the soul knows something the mind hasn’t figured out yet.”

  -8-

  That night, Zeke dreamed he was running. Or was he jumping?

  He was fleeing something–no, someone. Adam.

  Someone was with him. Someone helped him.

  Betrayal. A stab to the heart.

  Adam’s smug, perfect face leered down at him.

  Then emptiness. Stretching out forever.

  No escape.

  Ezekiel woke screaming and drenched in sweat.

  And so he passed his nights, every night, for years. His usual carefree nature buried itself under depression and resentment. He considered hating his parents, but it didn’t last. Mostly he hated himself. He hated these awful feelings. More than anything, he hated that damn sword.

  By Zeke’s twentieth birthday, he hardly recognized himself. His arms and shoulders had filled out. Little scars marked his body like a tapestry. Fresh bruises were a constant, and harsh frown lines cracked his face and forehead. His hair had grown long enough to tie behind his head.

  Were it not for Dook, Zeke would surely have given in to misery. Dook was what he named the baby mink. Dook was free to roam and hunt, but he always came home to sleep in Zeke’s warm, soft bed.

  Mama said it was important Dook could survive on his own, so Zeke spent most of his free time acclimating Dook to the outdoors and helping him learn to hunt. Dook was a vicious little killer, to be sure, but so cute. He loved bathtime and playing chase. Zeke played with Dook every night after training, and those little games helped Zeke remember joy and himself.

  Zeke’s skills didn’t improve very much, but his strength developed rapidly. It took him months to master the doorwaed blade technique.

  The secret was so obvious in hindsight. After a particularly rough session with a training shade, Zeke bumped his head against a rock, and a drop of blood fell from his brow onto the Ivory Blade. When he swung the sword next, Zeke felt a familiar sensation, and the blade carved the shade in twain at a distance.

  His blood activated the sword’s power.

  Specifically his blood, as nothing seemed to happen when Mama or Papa bled on the sword. Whenever Zeke’s blood touched the blade, all he had to do was focus, and he could cut anything, anywhere he could see.

  -8-

  Early one morning, while Zeke was snuggling Dook in bed, an explosion shook the ground and woke him up. Dook fell out of bed and scurried to his favorite hiding spot.

  Zeke grabbed his longknife and put on clothes. Then he ran outside to find the sky was falling. Literally. The cave ceiling had been blasted wide open, and sunlight was cascading into their home like a revelation from on high.

  Blinded by the light, Zeke had never seen so much direct sunlight before.

  He could barely see, but he heard Papa’s voice next to him shout, “We’re under attack! Take the blade and run with Mama. I’ll be right behind you. Go!”

  Papa threw the Ivory Blade into Zeke’s arms and pushed him away. “Go!”

  Zeke shuffled back, squinting and closing his eyes, reaching out for something to hold onto. A hand grabbed his tightly.

  “Hurry, this way,” Mama said and pulled him into a run. Zeke stumbled but Mama kept him upright.

  Zeke’s vision was returning, but he had to look down to shield his eyes.

  Zeke briefly glanced back and saw Papa fighting a swarm of bizarre, flying leaf monsters. He was all on his own, and wielding a shadow sword and shield. Papa launched himself off the ground and summoned shadowy black wings to fight the plant-like, insectoid aliens in the air.

  Papa was careful to stay out of direct sunlight, where his shadow constructs would break down.

  “Hey!” Mama hissed. “Don’t look back.”

  Zeke did as he was told.

  Mama led him to a corner wall Zeke had never explored closely. It looked like a nondescript dead-end until Mama pushed a stone aside to reveal a slide.

  As Mama moved the rock, Zeke couldn’t resist looking back to see how Papa was faring. Papa was still midair but bloody. The leaf/bug monsters had torn large chunks of flesh from his already mangled body.

  Suddenly, a beam of light blasted from above and struck Papa in the chest. He crashed into the ground. The leaves swarmed on him.

  “No!” Zeke shouted. Some of the leaf creatures heard and flew toward them.

  “Time to go,” Mama said, pulling him and pushing him down the hole. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  That’s what Papa said.

  “No, no, no, no, no!” Zeke shouted, but he was already sliding into the narrow, dark escape, still holding the dreadful Ivory Blade.