Swords and Secrecy

I find myself speaking to my swords again, as the sun ends its descent. Too long have I neglected them, I fear. When I hear their voices, they are usually raised in complaint:

Wherefore hast thou abandoned us? Knowst not thou that the air is damp with the rains, and that rust cometh but a short step behind? Thou hast no excuse for this appalling neglect!

There is truth in what they say. So I have taken out my polishing cloths and oils, and set down to do that which I have put off for so long. It fortunate that I had coated the blades with a layer of wax ere I set them aside. That has kept rust from touching the steel. While not pristine, the weapons are in good shape.

The first one to receive my ministrations was one that I have aligned with the sun. It has been with me the longest, and has taken the most abuse. Next was the sword that I have associated with the moon, with its white hilt-wrappings and its lighter, fullered blade. Like the first, it has seen some use, though I have managed to prevent it from tasting blood, particularly my own. It is also the youngest blade amongst the trio, and it needs little work to keep it clean.

Last, I come to the warrior sword. Unlike the other two, I have never wielded it, against foes dead or alive, mobile or inanimate. Its blade is layered, folded steel, and a real pain to keep free of oxidation. Unlike the other two, I feel a certain resistance each time I practice with it. Those whom I have trusted to handle it have all assured me that the weapon is well-balanced and the weight is well within acceptable norms. Perhaps this resistance is only in my mind. Perhaps it is in my sinews, for I have not practiced with my blades as often as I used to. Perhaps my heart is to distracted to give in wholly to the song of the sword. Perhaps.

* * *

I could cite work as the reason for my neglect. It has been difficult of late, as my friends are aware. The demands on my time have left me short of sleep and patience with fools. The situation at home can hardly be called restful either, adding to the load.

But I will push those excuses aside. There is another reason, the true reason, why I have avoided my swords. It is a reason that I shall not put down here. I have merely mentioned it, so that one day, when this hiraedd is done, I shall read this and remember this darker part of my life.