Ian was tired, bone-tired, after a long day's work in the fields. A husky youth of 18 summers, his broad shoulders and muscular arms testified too many long hours under the sun keeping his grandfather's farm productive. His hair was bright red, his eyes blue, his limbs long, and his tanned skin almost hid his freckles completely. The laborers left in the twilight after receiving their shares, and the barns were full in expectation of a long winter. It was the day of equinox, when day and night were perfectly balanced, when the sullen forest that surrounded his family's cottage on three sides grew darker and tingled with wild, cold magic.
As he opened his door, he found his grandfather sitting on a bench in front of the fire rather than at table, smoking his pipe and sending huge rings to play in the thatched rafters. In his hand was his ancient staff, smooth and tan colored, which never showed a mark or sign of wear. "Good evening, Ian. Dinner's ready for you." A bowl of stew sat on the table, with a hunk of bread and a goblet. "I've already eaten. Tonight's a special night."
The young man sat down, bowed his head for a moment, then set about devouring his meal. After taking a drink from the goblet, he looked at the liquid: it seemed to twinkle more than the firelight could account for. "This has a strange taste, Grandfather."
"Drink it all, lad. You'll need it. Finish your meal, there is much to tell you. This is a special night."
He ate all that was in his bowl and refilled it from the cauldron on the hearth. The old man chuckled and kept smoking in silence, his eyes lost in thought. As Ian ate, he noticed that the room seemed to change a bit, grow brighter with sharper outlines, and his grandfather seemed to have more wrinkles than usual. The smoke was a little different as well: the light blue hue turned yellowish, then green. Hunger still drove him, but after finishing his second bowl he decided against more, settling for wiping the dish clean with the rest of his bread.
Returning the tableware to its proper storage, he sat in front of his grandfather on the floor, but the old man beckoned him to sit next to him on the bench. There was a sweet smell in the air Ian couldn't identify, and his muscles had not only stopped aching, but felt as fresh as after his morning wash at the mountain stream.
"Tonight you come of age, Ian. Tonight you learn much, and embrace your destiny. I know I haven't told you much, but your education until now has been purposeful. You know all you need to survive in the Wild, every wood and mountain craft, every bit of desert lore, every sailor's skill. Through your co-workers you have learned the ways of human society at its most basic level, learning the lives of ordinary men and women. You have even learned the ways of combat, with and without weapons, and the board games have taught you battle tactics. Tonight, you start to learn of the ways of Empire."
"Grandfather, I know my history, and how our land came to be. We have not been a kingdom for centuries, not since the battle of Morcombe Glen when the Deathless Emperor took his throne."
"Yes, you know that story as the world does. Now learn the rest of it, how your Father lived and died, and what lies ahead for you. Look into the cauldron."
The bubbling brown liquid was full of meat and potatoes, as well as dark green bits of vegetables. Some red flecks of pepper danced in the quivering liquid, and has they looked, the flecks came together and opened a window, a bright blue vision of the past. Ian saw a king, tall and noble, with long dark hair, holding a massive blade in one hand and a shield with the emblem of an eagle. It resembled a small cameo sitting on the far end of the mantle above the fire, and as the image showed the shield, the cameo seemed to glow with its own light.
"This was your Father on the day of Morcombe Glen. His name was Xander, King of Platea and Defender of the Scroll. For twenty long years he led his great army in honorable battle against the forces of Darkness, and this was the day of his betrayal."
"How was he betrayed?"
"By the one whom he loved most, the one for whom he would have gladly sacrificed his life. She turned on him, sold the secret of his vulnerability, robbed him of his strength. The Sword of the Defender was broken that day, and lost to the world for a while."
"Wait a minute, that was over two hundred years ago. How could he be my father?"
"Through my art, my lad. I knew when the Deathless Emperor would be vulnerable, and managed to project us forward to this time, when he could fall. There was no place in the world we could hidden from him at that time, the peak of his power. This land has been under his spell for many dark decades, but if we had tried to strike sooner, we would have failed utterly. Now is the time, his power already wanes and you are ready."
"Me? Ready? All right, how?"
"Tonight I will give you the greatest gift I can. Hold out your hand."
Ian held out his hand as to shake hands with this grandfather, but the old man surprised him. Quickly, a knife appeared in the old man's hand and slashed Ian's palm deeply. The bleeding palm was slapped against the staff in the old man's hand, and Ian's grandfather held it there as the blood ran down the wood. Ian cried out in pain when he touched the wood, but the look in the old man's eyes compelled him to submit. For many long moments, the red torrent ran, then gradually slowed and stopped. His hand throbbed, and it seemed the wood itself pulsed in the firelight, taking in the blood that stained it.
Suddenly Ian was able to let go, and his palm was unmarked. He looked at the staff: it was tan and still unmarked, showing no sign of his blood that ran down its length. His eyes went back and forth between it, his palm and his grandfather's face, which was solemn and still. "Now you are part of this staff and it is part of you. You know its name."
"Kadosh," Ian said. "Kadosh is its name."
"Yes, and it knows you now, Ian. This staff is what will save us from our doom. It has been an heirloom of our house as long as we can remember, and will be for generations to come."
"All right, I understand a little bit more now. I feel its presence and know I should not be without it. But there's something I don't understand. Why wasn't it with Father at Morcombe Glen?"
